


Suicide by Proxy

by Tamagoakura (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Complete, Drug Use, F/M, Horror, Humor, M/M, Necrophilia, Prostitution, Stalking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tamagoakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love. Lust. Hate. Envy. They say these things come together to make one mad, but Canada doesn't think so. All he wants is to be in the spotlight. All he wants is to be America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Matthew Williams (aka Canada) sat in the passenger seat of his brother Alfred F. Jones' (aka The United States of America's) car, lightly flicking the door handle as they sped down the freeway and away from the latest G8 meeting. Alfred had sponsored the get-together at his house and was kind enough to give his quiet little brother a ride home since their domiciles were so close to one another. The American was babbling on and on about something incoherent and illogical, his voice raised above the bubbly techno-pop music that played through the Porsche's speakers at a louder-than-necessary volume. Matthew half listened as he toyed with the door handle and watched his brother speak, his violet eyes sweeping from Alfred's little fluttering ahoge, over his blue eyes and well-placed glasses, down the slope of his nose and finally stopping on his full and soft-looking lips. The younger nation was captivated by those lips, how soft and smooth they always looked, how they just moved and moved and moved and freaking moved as Alfred just babbled on and on. Didn't they get tired? How did he still have a voice?

Matthew was confident that the good old US-of-A should have sounded like a frog after all of the talking he did.

But, of course, somehow he didn't. His voice was like sex to Matthew's ears anyway so it was actually alright to him if he just talked forever. Knowing himself to sound dangerously close to Alfred, Canada had tried emulating his voice a few times whilst recording with his computer, but it never seemed to have the same… Loudness as America's.

"Yo, Mattie, didya wanna go grab something to eat?" Alfred asked, turning to look his brother in the eyes and smile, totally disregarding the road in front of himself.

"Maple!" The Canadian squeaked, flinching away from the road in front of them as if it would somehow help him die a little less in the event of a crash, "Watch the road, please!" As his brother laughed and just barely managed to miss side-swiping a blue SUV Matthew double-checked the integrity of his seatbelt as he thought how ridiculous it was that Alfred never seemed to wear one. And all at once he found himself staring at those damn lips again. This time they were forming food-related sentences at an even faster and more excited rate. Words words words, laughter, more words more words more words and a moment of coughing on a bit of saliva that traveled down the wrong tube. Soon those words would be muffled by some artery-clogging meal but they would still try to wiggle their way out into the open air as if there was nothing in the way.

Matthew would eat those words if it were only possible to take something so distinctly America into himself, it would become part of him forever and maybe it would somehow rub off on him and people would actually notice that he was there, he wouldn't always be mistaken for the asshole of the world and maybe people would treat him with as much respect as they treated his gosh darned brother who couldn't do anything but talk and talk and-

A finger jabbing him in the temple yanked the quiet country from his thoughts and made him realize that they were sitting in the drive-through of his brother's favorite fast food joint. Laughing lightly, he leaned to the side over Alfred's lap a little to see the menu board. As he made his decision he took the opportunity to inhale deeply through his nose, eyes fluttering shut and a small smile creeping over his lips at the older blonde's distinct scent. Something like Axe spray, apple pie, and gun powder all layered on top of that man-smell that came of wearing an aviator jacket all the time (for reasons Matthew had never come to understand). Flopping back into his seat, he told America what to get for him (just a ten piece nugget and a small fry, no drink). Alfred himself ordered the restaurant's signature sandwich meal with a coke, yes, super-size it. Hey, can I get a toy with that? Who the hell cares if it isn't a kids meal, what are you some kinda Nazi? No, the pink one, I already have the green one. If I find a green one in my bag I'm comin' in there!

"Why do you have to act like a little kid in public, eh? It's embarrassing." Matthew said, slouching down in his seat as they pulled up to the first window and Alfred all but threw his credit card at the woman working there.

"I'm not acting like a kid, I just wanted the damn toy but no~, according to the Rules Fuhrer here I need to fight for my right to get something cool." He snapped intentionally loud enough for the order-taker to hear. Always the professional she just passed the card back through the window with a strained 'have a good day' that sounded more like a 'fuck you'.

The Canadian just sighed and shook his head, more focused on committing every facet of his brother's scent to memory than dealing with the childish display in front of him. It wasn't like he had never smelled him before, hell they grew up together and still visited one another fairly often, but that just wasn't the point, now was it? He could almost feel those little scent particles floating around in his nose, digging into him and becoming part of him forever, lending their America-ness to him. There were no more incidents in the drive-through, thankfully. Alfred got his pink toy, the food was all put together properly, and no one had spit into anything as far as they could tell. Alfred was just so paranoid about people defiling his food in some way and yet here he was already stuffing his burger into his mouth after talking all kinds of shit to the restaurant employees.

After taking a long suck from his massive plastic cup he offered it to Canada, who was nursing his nuggets. No sauce, of course. Plain old boring Canada through-and-through. Sighing at the idea, Matthew took the cold cup and help it on his lap for a moment, staring down at the straw. There, at two o' clock, was a tiny bead of saliva shining like some beacon in the sunlight. Glimmering and glowing and beautiful like an oasis in the middle of the desert, like a ruby the size of your fist, like some disembodied hand under the stall dividers offering you toilet paper after you realize you just took a shit and there wasn't any left. It was, in all senses of the word, beautiful. Peeking at the American out of the corner of his eye, Matthew dipped his head and slipped his tongue from between his lips to lap up the little droplet and pull it into his mouth. He could only lightly taste the sugary cola mixed with probably burger residue but it was a tiny taste of heaven. Swallowing slowly, he liked to pretend he could feel it sliding down his throat and plopping into his stomach. He poked his tongue out again and slid it slowly around the circumference of the straw, searching for more but of course there was no more. Alfred was such a greedy asshole, taking all of his spit with him.

Not wanting to sully the tiny flavor that sat on the tip of his tongue, Canada gave the massive cup back without actually drinking anything and closed up the brightly colored nugget box, all red and white and what-not, to save for later. He was a little sad about the fries, since they were disgusting once they got cold and he would probably end up just throwing them away, but sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Besides, Alfred had paid so that made it a little more tolerable. 'Greedy with the spit and loose with the cash' could be his motto. Heck, it should be his national anthem.

"Did you want to come over tomorrow?" Matthew asked nonchalantly, running his fingers through his hair and lethargically flopping his head to the left as he flicked his eyes up to watch his older brother. Dang it Alfred was attractive, and cool, and so highly esteemed amongst their fellow nations. Why didn't he have that? Most of the time it was like he didn't even exist, no one even cared to remember his name. Matthew was glad that he had left Kumagoro at home so he wouldn't have to deal with even his pet forgetting who he was for a few hours.

"Sure man, I don't have anything to do after two so should I come then?" America asked, straightening his glasses. "You want me to bring me anything?"

"I don't know, maybe Seth Rogen? When were you planning to give him back?"

"Yeah, whatever Mattie. Don't get all butt-hurt about all your little actors choosing the better director's house." He was laughing as he pulled into Canada's driveway.

"Whatever, hoser." Matthew said with a smile, smacking his brother upside the head as he moved to get out of the car, only to jolt in a weird-looking and abrupt way that made him remember that he was still wearing a seatbelt. Grumbling about America's mocking laughs he undid his safety harness and slid from the seat, sticking his tongue out at Alfred as he slammed the car door shut. He turned on his heel and started for his house, twisting the two little strands of hair he had managed to yank out of his brother's head with that earlier slap between his fingers.

He heard the car reversing out of his gravel driveway and the crunching of rocks beneath his boots as he eyed the small golden strands, a little crooked smile forming on his lips. This would go with the rest, and although it didn't seem like much every piece counted. He went inside and marched straight to his bedroom and opened the closet. Pretty normal, if you asked him, just some clothes and a few shoeboxes at the top containing paperwork and the like. He had made a little compartment in the back, though, which could be easily removed and replaced (why hide something better when no one was looking for it?). He dropped to his knees and pulled the small door open and reached inside. It was cool and dry and dark in there, he didn't want his years of hard work molding or something. There was a stack of papers, three photo albums, a box of miscellaneous items, and a pillowcase.

First off, the papers. Most were random shopping and "to do" lists that Matthew had managed to fish out of the garbage, with the exception of an actually important document here and there that he had stolen with the help of his invisibility effect. He knew everything written on every scrap in there by heart, often reading them in bed before he fell asleep and using them as a reference when he practiced mastering his brother's handwriting.

The albums; Shots of Alfred doing all sorts of things. In one he was sitting on a park bench, arm up and head tilted as he tried to catch a fat droplet of his melting ice cream as if fell from the cone. In another, he had passed out in a puddle of his own drool during a G8 meeting and was in the middle of letting out the loud snore that would anger Germany and get himself thoroughly lectured for some ten minutes. Most were shots of him eating or sleeping, which seemed to be what he did the most, but then there were pictures of him as serious as Matthew thought he could be at the gun range, practicing his shooting. There were a few of him sneaking a cigarette when things got stressful, one of him crawling around on the floor in search of his lost glasses, and the most prized of all: one taken as he was masturbating on his couch to some random porn video, his flushed cheeks and lightly parted lips frozen in time, one eye just barely squinted as the very start of his orgasm glimmered in the TV's light at the tip of his penis.

The box was filled with some random effects, an old and cracked pair of America's glasses, a single sock, some wadded up tissues he had blown his nose into, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, a ball made up of many wads of old chewed-up gum, three used band aids, a little army of nail-clippings, and eight cigarette butts.

He opened the pillow case and dropped the two strands of hair inside, and they landed amongst the rest. It was almost full of his brother's hair, accumulated strand by hard-earned strand over a very long time. They were all as shiny and healthy as they were the days that he gotten them, being a part of a nation they would never dull or fall apart unless the country they belonged to died. Canada leaned down and pushed his face into those prized hairs, nuzzling them with a smile. They smelled like Alfred and shampoo.

"I'm hungry!" Kumajirou's voice came from behind him, snatching him from his little America heaven and tossing him back into the real world. With a roll of the eye and exaggerated sigh he turned his upper body to the little white bear without actually getting up from his cross-legged position on the floor.

"There's leftovers in the fridge, Kumajaku, go eat those."

"No! I want cheezies." The little bear demanded, crossing its arms over its chest.

"Vous etes ingrats, ours.*" Canada grumbled, pushing his prized items back into their little room and shutting the door. Standing ended up being more work than he had expected as his butt had fallen asleep at some point (just how long had he been sitting on the floor pawing through his little shrine?) and his back was a little sore. He picked up the bear and made his way to the kitchen, where he retrieved the cheese puffs from the highest point of the pantry and gave them to Kumajirou.

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

Kumajirou wiggled out from his arms and landed on the floor with a soft 'tump'. "Who are you, anyway?" He asked, ripping open the bag and stuffing his paw inside. Without waiting for an answer he just turned and walked away, crunching noisily on his snack.

"I'm Canada!" He yelled weakly after the obstinate animal, trying to slam the pantry door but only managing to close it softly. With an angry puff he stalked back to his room, lightly 'stomping' down the hall in a show of irritation. It wasn't like he ever forgot who Kumakarou was or anything, so why didn't his own pet ever remember who he was? It was truly bad form, and quite rude. Oh well, he had more important things to think about. Alfred was coming over tomorrow and he needed to do some cleaning and move his breakable items somewhere safe (that guy sure liked to get rowdy sometimes, especially with the cool new motion-controlled video game system Matthew had bought within the past year).

Some hours later, after the dishes were done, beds made, floors swept and mopped, and even the windows washed Matthew decided to unwind by partaking in one of his favorites pastimes. He was in his bathroom, his face so close to the mirror that the breaths from his nose made a little stripe of condensation on the glass. The flat iron he had borrowed from Japan sat on the counter to his right, plugged in and warming. Canada furrowed his brow, smiled, made an expression as if he had eaten a lemon, frowned. He puckered his lips and puffed out his cheeks. Leaning back away from the mirror he removed his glasses and set them to the side to replace them with the old and broken pair he had stolen from Alfred's garbage one dewy morning a few years ago. They didn't help him see very well but he felt like they added to the effect a little more.

Noticing that the ready light was on, he picked up the iron and ran it through his hair in fairly thin chunks. It took maybe ten minutes. His long curl was the last to go, and he winced at the weird sensation he got when he pressed the flat iron over the ahego and ran it down to the tip as quickly as he could. It kind of hurt and he had always found it strange that that particular strand had feeling at all. Wasn't hair supposed to be dead? With a quick run of a comb his hair now looked like a longer version of Alfred's, but he wasn't about to chop his hair off just to resemble his brother more. That kind of thing would be creepy.

He cleared his throat and tried pitching his voice properly a few times before, in his best Alfred imitation, he said, "I- I'm the hero!"

Matthew frowned. That didn't sound right at all, there wasn't enough conviction and it wasn't anywhere near loud enough. It didn't help him any that he felt the line was totally ridiculous in the first place, but having it come from his own mouth felt terribly silly and embarrassing. The thought of saying something like that in front of an audience shot through his mind and his cheeks burned bright red as he turned away from the mirror and covered his face with his hands, scrunching his eyes shut and shaking his head 'no'. How the heck did his brother manage to say something so ridiculous in front of everyone all the time and keep a straight face?

After he regained his composure Canada went about his daily regimen of attempting to emulate his older brother. He worked on his voice, practiced the right facial expressions in front of the mirror obsessively, attempted to move the same way America did. Knowing their faces identical with the exception of eye color, he wondered if everything else about them was identical. He knew they looked the same naked aside from the few extra pounds Alfred had around the belly, but were their 'sweet spots' the same as well? Most of all he wondered if Nantucket had the same strange sensitivity as his own curl. He had always wanted to touch it but never did for the fear that it would have the same effect of America that it did on him. Something like that would be rude and make things awkward so he just speculated on it, sometimes spending hours thinking about whether or not he had ever seen Alfred do something that would point either way. He could never think of anything.

In the middle of working on his voice he noticed the clock. 2:56am? What time had he gotten home, 3:00pm? Well pour maple syrup on my head and call me a mounty, time sure flies when you're having fun! Removing the old glasses and gingerly setting them aside he rubbed his sore eyes. Apparently their eyes insisted on being different in every way possible; Matthew wore 2.75 while Alfred wore 3.25 and hours of wearing the wrong strength had given him a headache. With a yawn and a stretch he stood and began putting his things away. Glasses away in the box of knickknacks and safely tucked away in the closet. He took a short and lukewarm shower, combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and cleaned his toilet. As he stood at the sink washing his hands he wondered why he didn't clean the toilet first, and then shower. He considered taking another shower, yawned deeply, tossed that notion. He would just wash his hands well and go to sleep. He needed to get up early to prepare for his brother's arrival anyway so he couldn't really waste much more time that he could have been using for rest.

When he was finished in the bathroom he stripped down and threw on a comfortable nightshirt with a large emblem of a maple leaf on the front and a gold and brown sleep mask. First he stubbed his toe on the foot of the bed and hopped around for a while, questioning why he had thought it was a good idea to pull the mask over his eyes before he got into bed. Once he pulled it up and it sat on his head like his goggles usually did he slipped under his warm covers and got comfortable. Before he reached out to the little lamp on his side table he heard the familiar sounds of Kumajirou climbing into his bed to sleep at the bottom by his feet.

"Good night, Kumaroba." He whispered as he flicked the light off.

"Who the heck are you and why are you in my bed?"


	2. Love

Wake up, rise and shine, get the hell outta bed and face the morning. Soft yawn and long stretch, ow, something popped ow ow ow oh wait, now it's better. Matthew pushed his sleep mask up from his eyes and squinted into the bright light that flooded his room through the large window, opening and closing his mouth with loud wet smacking noises. Great, his mouth tasted like ass. Just beautiful. He pushed himself out of bed and padded toward the bathroom, rubbing his sleep-crusted eyes and waiting for the thick haze to lift itself from his mind. He had left his alarm clock ringing on the side table so Kumajirou would eventually wake up. It was already ten o' clock and there was much to be done. The lawn needed mowing, the kitchen needed cleaning, the bathrooms needed scrubbing, the food needed cooking.

He fumbled with the bottom of his nightshirt for a moment before he remembered that he wasn't wearing pants. Although he lived alone he was always sure to keep the toilet seat down, since when you flush it teeny tiny little droplets of your urine (amongst other things) spray up into the air if you never put it down. Gladly, he never forgot to lift it before he took a leak, and today was nothing new. As he went he picked the little crusties from his eyes and flicked them into the bowl to be flushed. One-two shakes and done, clear the throat and spit into the tepid water before closing the lid and flushing. As he washed his hands in the sink he inspected his face. Well, his complexion was a little clearer than normal, but it was nothing to throw a party about.

He didn't bother to wash his face since he was getting into the shower anyway. He always felt he needed to man-up about getting into the spray. He was the type to turn the water on and let it run, periodically testing the temperature with his outstretched hand until it felt just right, only to still cringe away from it like a kicked puppy as he slid past the curtain and stepped in. The water was more warm than hot. Luke-warm like everything else about him. Grumbling about the idea he turned his back to the spray and let it cascade over his head and down his back, shutting his eyes tight to keep the droplets from dripping into them. The shampoo he used because his brother used it was first, quarter-sized dab in his palm then into his hair. Yeah, work that shampoo, Canada. Getting squeaky clean for America (whether he noticed or not) was always one of his favorite things to do. Scratch the scalp to slough off that dead skin, no reason to rub it into the lower strands since the water was going to take it there anyway. He tilted his head back and rinsed it out, turning his head this way and that to be sure that all of the suds had washed away. Once he was sure it was clear he poured the conditioner, also a copy of what Alfred used, and worked it in.

He had a hair-tie hanging on the temperature control that he used to tie his wavy blonde hair up into a high ponytail so that the conditioner could do its job while he took the time to wash the rest of himself. Wash cloth covered with his own preferred body wash in hand, he started at the face and worked his way down. There was no way he was going to rub it all over his face after he had used it to watch his feet or tender bits, of course. Scrub, scrub, scrub, there went the dirt of the night swirling down the drain with the soapy bubbles. Once his hair and body were rinsed (this he did all at once) he turned the water off and once he had squeezed and shook the extra water from his person he stepped out onto his plush rug and grabbed his clean towel. Dried the hair first so it wouldn't just leak and get his body wet again, then the rest.

Next were the teeth, which he did happily considering the nasty flavor sleep left in the mouth, then he cleaned his ears while he combed his hair. Swab in left hand, comb in right, switch. By the time he stepped out of the bathroom he felt like a new man. Well, not as new as he would have liked, but new enough at least. As he made his way to the kitchen he thought about taking a bit of advice from Japan and leaving his shoes by the door when he got home; maybe he wouldn't have to sweep everyday. He thought about this often but just never got around to implementing the practice, so of course he was going to have to sweep up the little bits of gravel that had fallen from the treads of his boots the day before. He couldn't have company come into his house if it were dirty, and especially not if that company was his favorite Country Next Door.

And so counters were scrubbed, tables were shined, knickknacks were dusted and the floors were once again swept and mopped. Shine the doorknobs, wax the candles, swap out the light bulbs so they wouldn't suddenly sputter out and make him look like a slob. Preen the plants, arrange the cutlery, iron the serviettes, take a break for some Vi-Co and a jam buster, back to work.

By the time it was noon he was all finished up indoors. Now he was standing on his porch, rake in hand, surveying the grounds to assess the damage. Some leaves (as were to be expected in the fall), some misplaced driveway gravel, and the grass was a whole millimeter too high for his standards. He sighed heavily, disgusted with himself for letting his home fall into so much ruin. What did Alfred think of him, he had only been over yesterday so Matthew was sure he would have seen the state that everything was in.

"Hey, hey," Canada could almost hear him whispering to Tony or Japan, "Did you hear about Mattie's house? What a dump!" Which would either be followed by a round of hearty laughter at his expense, or more believably, answered by a flabbergasted "Who?"

"Why aren't montages real?" He muttered to himself as he set out with his rake, readying the grass for a well-deserved mowing. If only he weren't around, he wouldn't have to worry about things like this anymore. Somehow he felt that if there was no more Canada, the world would be better somehow. But that was what he was cleaning for, wasn't it? If he kept himself busy he had less time to dwell on depressing things, the same way that if he kept working he had an easier time dealing with his raging and somewhat slant-y emotions surrounding his big brother. The little things were what really mattered, right? Life wasn't all about the bigger picture, right? So every dish he washed, every leaf he raked into the large black trash bag, every little strand of blonde hair he collected either directly from the source or off of particularly grabby sofas were the pieces of the seemingly endless jigsaw that was his life.

But that wasn't really the point, now was it?

Somehow he wanted more and less all at once. He wanted to shed his skin and step into another (Alfred) so that he could leave his own troubles behind and find a new life (Alfred) where he could feel a little more at ease (Alfred) and actually (Alfred) be able to relax (Alfred Alfred) and be happy (A-L-F-R-E-D F. J-O-N-E-S). If only it were that easy. Or maybe it was? He had always felt that he tended to over-think things.

He threw the big bag of leaves over his shoulder and carried it back to the house Santa Clause style, leaving the rake leaning up against the big oak tree in his front lawn. The bag went into the garage for later, which was where the lawnmower was. Mowing the front and back yards ate up almost forty-five minutes, which left him with what? A little less than an hour to finish everything for America's visit. He hurried inside, nearly knocking Kumajirou over in the process, and hustled to the kitchen to cook. 'The quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach'.

"More like the quickest way to a man's heart is through his chest." He muttered as he pulled the ingredients for his home-made pancakes from their respective cupboards and set them onto the counter. Once he had put the batter together and mixed it until it was smooth, he took a rather sharp peeling knife and drug it across his wrist. No, not attempting suicide, he knew that you cut vertically for that. Just deep enough to get a fairly good and controllable flow of blood which he positioned over the bowl and let dribble into the batter as he whistled 'Canada oh Canada' in good humor. Once he was sure that there was enough to make it worthwhile and just slightly alter the flavor but not enough to muck up the color he pulled his hand away and wrapped it in a few paper towels, leaning against the counter nonchalantly as he waited for the bleeding to stop.

He always made them like this and Alfred always commented on the 'weird, but definitely good' flavor of his cooking. After the blood came a little tendril of saliva, and last but not least he tilted his head over the bowl and gave it a vigorous scratching until a few flakes of dandruff floated down and into the pancakes-to-be. A quick stir and they were ready to be cooked. As he heated the stove he wiped his hands on his jeans and checked the time. The food should be done by the time the USA got there, and he always had an appetite.

"I'm hungry!" Kumajirou said loudly from the table where he had been sitting for some time now.

"Yeah, yeah. These are for Alfred, eh, so you can have some cereal." The Canadian said, walking to the pantry to grab the box of lightly sweetened corn spheres. 'Kumariko tested, Matthew approved'.

"Fine, I don't want your AIDScakes anyway, goof."

"Hey, call me that again and I'll have to ask you to go outside and rough it like a real bear." Matthew whispered angrily, pouring the cereal into a bowl and reaching out for the milk. Where the heck did Kumadora learn that kind of language anyway? After he served the animal his breakfast he went about cooking the pancakes and preparing the dishes. Yeah, he knew what was in them, but what did it matter? It all came from him anyway, what was he expected to do, be disgusted by his own pieces? Well, maybe he was just a little, but not in the sense of 'Eew! My spit!' as much as it was 'Eew! Me!' while looking into a mirror.

While he was working on flipping the round little cakes he heard the familiar sound of Alfred's shiny and cool car pulling into his driveway. The sound made him feel like he was going to have a coronary, his heart jumped so hard. He was here he was here he was finally here! Matthew could see him from the window, sliding from the plush seats and self-consciously flicking a cigarette away from himself. He didn't smoke very often, and when he did he tried to hide it, which Canada found to be quite funny. Like there was anything about his brother that he didn't know. He knew that Alfred always used his left foot when he started walking, he knew that he preferred his onions raw over fried on burgers, he knew that after a bit of writing his handwriting began to develop loops and got pretty sloppy until it barely looked like English anymore. He knew how many hours a week he spent surfing porn on the internet and which video games he liked the most. He would feel like a loser if he hadn't calculated that his brother smokes, on average, one pack of cigarettes for every two weeks. Preferred hundreds because 'the shorts look all stubby and stupid', hated menthol, liked to see how long he could keep the stack of ash before it fell.

He couldn't help but smile as Alfred just walked through the door without bothering to knock, bellow a loud "Wussup, Mattie!"

"I'm in the kitchen!" He called back as loudly as his soft voice allowed, fighting back the hot blush that was staining his cheeks.

"Yo bro, that smells damn good." Alfred remarked, plopping down onto a chair next to the almost finished Kumajirou.

"I guess if you like AID-" The bear's biting response was cut short when Matthew spun around and glared at him, knife in hand.

"I think you should go upstairs and play, Kumajelly." He 'suggested', eyes narrowed as he walked over to the bear and took his empty bowl.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Kumajirou muttered, hopping down from his seat and walking away. "You just wait 'til whoever that was that takes care of me gets home, he'll show you what for."

"I am who takes care of you!" Canada yelled after the fluffy white animal, only to be ignored. He sighed and shook his head as America laughed and tilted himself onto the two back legs of his chair.

"Hey, four on the floor, buddy." Matthew said as he went back to the stove and pulled the pan from the heat. Of course he was ignored as he prepared the plates, and Alfred just tilted further back, trying to balance himself without using his hands. When he carried the plates to the table and set them out, he gave the chair the tiniest of kicks, sending Alfred tumbling to the floor with a loud slam.

"Maple, Alfred, what did I tell you? I knew you would fall!" He exclaimed, coming to his brother's aid.

"I dunno, I totally thought I had it but I guess not." America laughed, taking Matthew's outstretched hand and using it to pull himself from the floor, rubbing the back of his head in pain. Upon request he turned and showed the little forming bump to his little brother, wincing as his fingers softly danced over the wound.

"Do you want some ice?" Canada asked, bending to pick up the fallen chair. Alfred declined and Matthew pocketed the few little hairs he had taken for later. They went about their meal and the US decided to take his brother's advice and actually sit properly.

"How does everything you cook always taste so good?" He asked some five minutes later, his mouth full of food.

"The secret ingredient is love." Matthew replied jokingly, making a show of fluttering his lashes and clapping his hands together. In all honestly the secret ingredient was love, a love so deep and strong and pure that he added the thing closest to his heart that he could get to without dieing just to get the idea across, but there was no way he was going to tell Alfred that.

"I'm sure it was something closer to rat poison." America laughed, and a little piece of food dropped from his mouth and onto his plate.

'It should have been, it could have been, then we could eat them all up and die and we'd be right here together until the end of the world and the sun blows up or something.' Matthew thought as he casually swiped up the little piece of fallen food from the older man's plate with his index finger and popped it into his mouth. He then laughed belatedly at the joke. Ha ha ha, so so funny Mr. Jones, you should be in stand-up, you could be the next John Candy and by golly you would go further. Please, please, stop or I'll moisten my gitches and then where will we be?

If the American was at all disturbed by his younger sibling eating food that fell out of his mouth like it was the most normal thing in the world to do he didn't show it. Instead he just went on telling Canada about the time he had when he went to Japan's house last and how much fun it was. Went mountain climbing, he said, went to the beach and had an episode. An episode? Yeah, an episode, like in Japan's cartoons. Every Japanimation had an episode at the beach, didn't it? Heck yes they did and Alfred got to experience it firsthand. How cool is that? Cool? Way cool!

What have you been doing? What, you went to Cuba's house recently? What, he punched you in the head even though you were holding a sign saying 'Hi, I'm Canada'? Hahahahaha, hilarious! Catching up was all just so much fun, right? Right? Right? Or something like that anyhow. Talk-talk-talking, with food in his mouth and uh-oh! Is he choking? Maybe, this looks serious! Oh, wait, he's alright. Darn. Keep on truckin', keep on talkin', keep on walkin'. Wait, what? You want to spend the night? Let me check my schedule (so I can remove anything I was supposed to do tomorrow. Prime Minister? Screw the Prime Minister!).

"Let's play games!" Alfred said, standing abruptly once he had finished his meal. Canada nodded and told him to set it up while he took care of the dishes. Once the American had left the room he took up the dishes and brought them to the sink, rinsing one while he ran his finger across the one his brother had used. He put it into his mouth and sucked the flavor off as he slid his own rinsed plate into the dishwasher, then rinsed Alfred's after putting the used fork into his mouth and working every bit of red, white, and flavor from the utensil. Alfred should turn his spit into a soft drink or something, because Matthew was sure that it would fly off of the shelves in record numbers. He was also sure that he would buy them all himself and to hell with the needy public. Once he had practically licked the fork clean he tossed it into the dishwasher with everything else and shut the door, but didn't start it because that would have been a waste of water.

By the time he got into the living room Alfred had the game ready to go, clearly set on beating him in "Italian Plumber Sports", specifically tennis. Knowing himself to be rather slow at… well anything physical, really, Matthew tried suggesting something like golf but the American would hear nothing of it. And so tennis it was, and of course Canada lost pathetically at every match. Always one to rub it in, Alfred constantly berated his pathetic score and apparent lack of hand-eye coordination the whole way through. By the time Alfred swung his controller a little too hard and sent it crashing into the wall hard enough to eradicate the little white stick and create a rather sizable dent, the canuck was almost happy to see it happen.

"Well, now that you managed to break my house again, how about we do something a little less hands on?" He asked with a polite smile, kneeling over the broken plastic pieces next to Alfred and helping him pick them up.

"That's cool with me, dude. I'll get someone to come over here and fix your wall tomorrow or the day after, 'kay?" He let out a somewhat awkward sounding airy chuckle as he dumped the last of the wall pieces he held into the trashcan Matthew had carried in from the kitchen. "So what did you want to do?"

See if you react the same way I do when the small of my back is licked. "We could watch a movie?"

"I'm cool with that, what you wanna watch?" He asked, plopping back onto his bum with his legs crossed.

The look on your face when I make you cum. "Well I did just recently buy that horror about the ghosts in the house where everyone just stands around and screams at nothing."

"W-well if you insist." America stuttered, adverting his blue eyes from his brother's purple ones, trying to mask his obvious fear.

Matthew suppressed a smile. Alfred could be so cute. It made him wish that he could be as cute as well, but of course he was just plain-old forgettable Canada, the country with that one mounty sitting around somewhere on a horse in the woods, and the lord of maple syrup. Master of free healthcare and silly accents (according to his brother, anyhow). God of politeness and patience. Sigh. He was really coming to dislike himself, and the more time he spent with America the more he wanted to have what he had, to be what he was, and to just… become him completely. Sadly that wasn't possible, unless it was, but if it was he sure as all things didn't know how to make that happen. Anyway, who you were was all in the mind anyway, so even if he somehow managed to switch skins with his sibling he was sure that all at once the country called Canada would be known and no one would remember what America was.

A little while later, after they had taken a bathroom break and Matthew made popcorn, they sat together on the couch and got ready for the movie. America had insisted on covering himself in a blanket and holding a pillow, as well as sitting pressed up against Matthew. Of course he wasn't going to complain about the close quarters or anything, but having Alfred's quivering body pressed up against him for the duration of the flick seemed like a somewhat bitter pleasure. He would be right there, right freaking there, but Canada would just have to sit there and pretend he wasn't burning up inside while he tried to pay attention to the film.

As it turned out, that was exactly how it turned out. Lights off, movie on, people wandering about on the screen in a house while the cameraman struggled to make it look more like a reality show than a well-directed piece. People screaming around about sounds that never happened and the camera shaking as if the guy operating it was having a stroke. And all the while Alfred was absolutely terrified, and shaking, and grasping Matthew's arm like it was a lifesaver in the middle of a tsunami and he had been thrown overboard. Every little bump and rustle seemed to send new shocked terrors through the grown man's body, which in turn shook Canada about on the couch until he was beginning to feel a little motion sick.

But it was heaven all at the same time. He was so warm, and soft where a man should be soft and firm where he should have been (aside from the belly). He smelled amazing, the old stale cigarette smoke just adding to his already multifaceted scent, and his hair brushed across Canada's face every once in a while and it felt like silk or something. Smooth and inviting on all levels and erotic in a tickling kind of way. At one particularly scary point he jumped and snatched Matthew harder, burying his face in the crook of his neck. The Canadian thought he was going to have a heart attack at the feel of Alfred's quickened breathes ghosting across his flesh and the occasional brush of those luscious lips as he shakily formed frightened words about whatever the hell was happening on the screen that Canada had stopped being able to care about ages ago. Breath, breath, breath, don't think about it watch the movie watch the movie watch the damn movie oh god oh god oh god, oh hell I have a boner now how the heck am I supposed to hide this?

He tried crossing his legs, but that hurt. He tried thinking of old people naked, but the image was quickly blotted from his mind when Alfred let out a little moan of fear into his shoulder that sounded terribly sexual considering the state of mind that he was in. Finally he opted to just turn his body slightly away from the US in the hopes that he wouldn't jump on him and accidentally touch it. Is that the remote in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? Oh god so, so, so, so happy. But that wasn't what he needed to be thinking about, gosh darn it, he needed to focus on the movie and stop thinking impure thoughts about pushing Alfred over right now and getting as close to him as still having skin would allow.

And finally the movie was over and Matthew was fairly confident that Alfred had passed out from fear. Turing a little to look at him confirmed it, he was clearly out, with a distressed look on his sleeping face and the smallest bead of drool starting to slip from the corner of his mouth. He smiled and lightly brushed some of his hair back for no apparent reason. It was far too short to be held back by anything. Knowing Alfred to be an extremely heavy sleeper he leaned forwards and pressed their foreheads together and softly whispered his name. No response. Gathering every ounce of courage he had inside himself he tilted the sleeping head back slightly and moved a little closer, hesitated, repeated Alfred's name. No answer again, he closed the gap between their lips and…

Time stopped, the world outside the tiny bubble of space around them disappeared. Matthew could almost hear sappy movie music playing and fireworks exploded and the universe gained sentence and deemed that very moment and place to be the epitome of everything before and after, on all planes and dimensions of existence. Oh god oh god oh god they were so soft and warm and Christ on a cracker they were actually smoother than they appeared to be. All at once he had a powerful urge to bite them, just bite them right off and eat them because all at once he knew for a fact that they would be delicious. Instead he stuck his tongue out and ran it over those plump lips, just barely dipping it between them before he lost his nerve and pulled away, flushed, a little sweaty, and panting like he just ran a mile.

After he had rearranged Alfred on the couch in a way that would be comfortable, he made his way to his room with the full intention to rub one out, but the moment his head hit the pillow he was sound asleep. Apparently love was more tiring than he had thought.


	3. Lust

As Matthew watched the ground pass by so far beneath himself from the airplane's window, he toyed with Alfred's name. Al-fred. All Fred? Allen McFred, Arlene Miss Friendly. The tongue started flat at the "a", tapped the incisors, which retaliated by pressing against the lower lip, only to let up their attack as the lips puckered out to form a little "o" shape then pull back to expose most of the front teeth. Then, lastly, the tongue would do one little farewell tap against the incisors again, only closer to the gums this time. What the heck did the F stand for? Who knew? Jones. Joooooones. Joney-Jone-Jones. As Canada quietly dissected the name, he checked his watch. Ten in the AM, he had woken at four, caught his flight at five. It was no wonder he didn't come to Cuba's house too often, it was just so far away.

It had been a couple weeks since America had stayed over at his house last. Alfred had woken him abruptly by body-slamming him and proceeding to put him into a headlock. As Matthew had fought back and managed to throw Alfred to the floor with a loud slam he thanked his lucky stars he had decided to sleep with pajama pants on that night. As soon as the elder brother had fallen to the floor Canada rolled off after him and landed on his chest, pinning his arms by his sides with his knees. Some minutes of struggling against a rather painful session of "pink belly" the self-proclaimed hero finally called 'Uncle' and was released. Some casual conversation as they got ready for the day and a quick match of hockey on Matthew's shiny black third-generation gaming system later, Alfred said his goodbyes and went home. The Canadian was sad to see him go but, as usual, didn't say anything.

The 'fasten seatbelts' light flashed on and Matthew ignored it. Like he ever unfastened his seatbelt, what did they take him for? Someone who ever took risks or did anything out of the ordinary or interesting? Hahaha, don't make him laugh or he'll pee all over the seat because holy maple on a stick he had imbibed far too many shots of Royal Crown for his own good. He turned his eyes from the ground as they began their dissent and continued on his quest to become totally and utterly pissed as he tossed back the last of his glass with a slight grimace. Why all the drinking? No particular reason, if one were to say that feeling wholly and completely useless, hopeless, and all-around crappy wasn't a reason to get so slammed that you couldn't tell a goalie from center. Going to visit his good friend Cuba would surely cheer him up, and he was nearly sick with excitement (or that was just the booze, he was too ripped to tell the difference at that point) when the plane finally touched down and came to a stop.

Soon the plane had stopped and all of the passengers were herded off like sheep, glassy-eyed and somewhat disoriented. Canada pulled out his cell phone, a black one that was named after food (it always made him think of that song. The one that goes "the something the something, the sweeter the juice"), and searched his contacts list for Cuba. After a bit of scrolling he saw it and hit the 'call' button. Ring, ring, one more time with a ring-a-ding-ding and 'click'.

"Hey, mang. I saw your plane just got here, where you at?"

"I'm over by the pop machine that's close to the ice cream parlor." Matthew explained as he scratched his side, looking around the crowded airport for his portly friend. He leaned against the machine when he felt himself tipping dangerously to one side and then the other, too inebriated to stand properly.

"Hey!" He heard through both the phone and the open air, "America? What the hell are chu doing here?" The young Canadian turned with a little confused noise just in time to be punched in the side of the head by the angry Cuban.

"Gah! I'm Canada!" He yelped, shrinking away from the painful blow. "I'm on the phone with you, you hoser, why would you think I'm him?"

"Wait, what? Oh, it is you Matthew! Sorry about that, mang, you two just look so similar." Cuba said with a hearty laugh as he slapped the Canadian on the back.

Matthew grabbed the bottom of his hoodie and yanked it out to emphasize the large maple leaf on the front, "I'm wearing a freaking Canada sweater and everything!" After a moment he sighed and pulled it up and over his head, noticing that the relative cool of the airplane had finally lifted its grip on him and the country's heat was beginning to make him sweat. He wore a white T-shirt with a red maple leaf in the center with the words 'legalize it' printed beneath and a loose-fit pair of light colored jeans. His shades perched on his head for later use and he had a black backpack slung over his shoulder. "Never mind, don't worry about it."

"You want to go get some ice cream, it's pretty hot out today." Cuba asked, scratching his chin with a good humored smile. Matthew jumped at the idea of cooling off with the delicious milky substance so they walked into the Coppelia and made their decisions. Banana for Cuba, vanilla for Canada. Soon they were sitting in one of the booths by the window. As Canada dug into his bag Cuba asked him how he was. Fine, good, cool, dandy. Work was a pain in the rear lately but when isn't it, am I right? He pulled a little plastic bottle of maple syrup from his bag and uncapped it, pouring a healthy amount of the thick liquid over his ice cream. He asked Cuba about his recent goings on. Good, fine, his boss was sick so actually it wasn't really all that fine. His boss was old and ill and no man lasted forever so he was apprehensive about what would come of it.

"I hear he's giving you to his brother." Matthew mentioned as he stirred the syrup into the treat and took a spoonful into his mouth.

"That is what is being said, yeah. I'm not sure how good of a boss he'll be though. Or maybe I'm just a little worried about change. Are you drunk?"

"What makes you say something like that?" Canada asked as he failed to properly navigate the spoon into his mouth for the third time and a glob of the frozen goodness plopped down onto the table. His words were slurred and he smiled in that crooked way that he had always loved watching himself do in the mirror because it reminded him of his big brother.

"Just a hunch. Cigar?" He offered one of his world-famous cigars to the snickering man. Canada waved the gesture away with a shake of head as he slowly went about wiping the melting cream from the table. Yes, that was what the employees were for, but he didn't want to be rude. They sat and talked for some two hours, Cuba smoking away and Canada occasionally pulling miniature liquor bottles from his backpack and knocking them back with shocking speed. Their conversations ran across all types of topics, from the usual politics and world-relations to things a little less important such as television shows that they were getting in to, enjoyable books, and cute animals.

Finally, Canada rummaged about in his bag to find that he was out of alcohol. "I- I ran out." He slurred quietly, rechecking his pack for the third time. "Now what am I supposed to do? I know! Cuba, let's go out drinking."

The larger man laughed an agreement as he pulled another cigar from his tin and put it between his teeth. He declined the money Matthew held out to him and paid the whole bill himself. He then hooked his arm around the blonde's waist and lifted him to an unsteady stand, leading him from the airport shop and out to the parking lot to find his Chevrolet Bel Air. After dumping him into the passenger seat, Cuba climbed in behind the steering wheel and started the old car. It gave a wrenching cough and grumbled angrily, as if it would have preferred to laze about in the warm lot all day than roll over the hot pavement to the club. The sun was high in the sky as it draped its hot rays across the Canadian's cheeks. He watched the sky pass on by from his half-laying position in the old car, listening to his swarthy friend sing away to the music on the radio. Well, déjà vu. He lazily lifted his hand to play with the door handle. Pull only a little ways, let it go and listen to it snap the plastic base. Pull, snap. Pull, snap. Pull, snap.

What would it be like to just push the door and hop out? Exhilarating, he was sure. The sudden rush of wind enveloping you like a bubble. He pictured that the world would slow down around him and for a few precious pieces of a second it would be like flying, all sound would fade and it would be nirvana. All of the weight of the world would lift from his shoulders and suddenly everything would be bearable. Until he hit the ground, that is. He pictured the moment of impact to snap back into real time and was sure that the pain would be intense. Also, with his luck, he would only manage to horribly disfigure himself, and he was sure Alfred wouldn't have any interest in a brother that walked around resembling that mummy from those old monster movies. Oh well, it was worth a little fantasy every once in a while. The same with the idea of just spontaneously throwing himself from tall buildings, stabbing his extremities when he's holding something sharp, diving headfirst into large bodies of water. All that stuff, you know, totally normal stuff.

Soon they were there and gosh darn it the club was hopping, even as early as it was. Matthew was pulled along by Cuba, who just shouldered people out of his way as he made his way back to his VIP box. The blonde took a seat in one of the plush sofas and set his bag nearby, smiling sweetly at the pretty young red-haired waitress who approached to take their orders. Cuba told her to get him the usual 'Buzalco Special'. She gave a nod and let out a bubbling little giggle when he slipped a twenty dollar bill down the front of her shirt and winked. It was a tip, he said, put everything I order on my tab. She nodded enthusiastically; twenty American dollars as a tip in Cuba was insane. Why the heck did he have American money anyway? It was probably fake. Canada leaned back into the comfortable seat back and sighed. His buzz was dying and the music was loud.

Cuba plopping down beside him heavily pulled him from his thoughts. "What's a Buzalco Special?" He rolled his head to look at the dark-haired man, watching as he pulled out another cigar. He was lucky that countries didn't have to worry about things like lung cancer, because if he were a human his health would be fucked nine ways from Sunday.

"Just some tequila, various mojitos, about an ounce of cocaine."

Canada nodded, turning to look at the ceiling again. "Maple, that has to be expensive."

"It's not too bad." He took a long drag from his cigar and let the smoke out in fat rings. Some minutes passed by and finally the cute waitress reappeared with two large platters balanced on her lean, tanned arms. She winked at the men as she set them down onto the low table. Cuba motioned for Canada to help himself.

Leaning forward, he removed the lids from both plates and eyed the contents. Four bottles of some pretty fancy booze, five shot glasses, the makings for various mixes. The other platter held a large bowl of the white powder, three specially-made straws, and three sharp razor blades. Matthew poured himself a large shot and fixed up a couple of lines, keeping up his casual conversation with his host all the while. It had been quite some time since he had taken the drug, but it was like riding a bicycle. You never forgot how to do it. With a little too much gusto he railed the long, thin lines and chased them with the shot, grimacing at the burning in his nose and throat. At least the biting flavor of booze would help to cover the flavor of the drip when it came. He rubbed his sore nose and sat back, leaning his head against the sofa once again as he waited for the drugs to-

That was when the party got started. It was like a blur of lights, colors, and sounds. One moment he was pounding back shots with maybe five other people (where did they come from?) and the next he was chatting up a dark haired beauty in the corner. 'I have a thing for American guys' she had said. 'I'm Canadian.' 'Close enough.' Two more lines, fatter this time. It was hard to put a normally-sized line together on some whore's well formed back, but it was a hell of a lot more fun than taking it off of a table or something. He lost an arm wrestling match with Cuba once, twice, three times. A blonde tourist was twisting his curly ahego through his thin fingers, sliding his tongue from his mouth to flash a yellow smiley face stud. Matthew was pulling Cuba off of that same man some time later. Why were they fighting again? Oh well, screw that noise and toss it to the wind because oh damn he was getting a lap dance by yet another random woman. Where the hell had she come from? Ah well, may as well combat that confusion with a little more o' that white pony. Missed a little of the line, shit. Rub it on the gums then, oh hey they're numb how weird. Felt pretty interesting, really.

Apologized for bumping into someone on his way to the bathroom. Well that kindness didn't work, punch his lights out instead. Go to the biffy and piss for what felt like hours but oh god it felt good. At the sink washing his hands, oh shit check out those pupils man, they're huge! Snickering laughter at the massive black circles. Took a swig of his beer. Wait, beer? When did he get that? Oh yeah, the guy he had bumped into had been holding a beer. His hand still hurt from the impact. He looked at it and saw blood but who the heck cared? It wasn't his, it was just some random guy's nose that had painted his knuckles a pretty shade of red. Apparently he hadn't washed his hands very well. He licked it. Yuck. Back on the dance floor and hey hey hey, who is this sexy little number? Shiny black hair and almost the same height as Matthew, he was young and hot and so damn sultry. They say it takes two to tango and by golly is it better to dance with a partner than alone. And then they were back at the booth pawing at each other like mad. Tongues danced within furiously passionate kisses and hands traveled every which place until Cuba walked over and blew a stinking cloud of smoke in their faces.

"No fucking in my booth."

Damn. To the outdoors! They ingested a little more coke and took part in the beer bong first, and then they were hand in hand rushing from the club and around the corner to some shady-looking alley. Kissing? What's that? Screw that, they spent enough time doing that inside, it was time to get down and dirty and damn it Matthew was not in the waiting mood. He ran his fingers through that smooth black hair as he was pushed up against the cool wall (well well, would you look at that, it was night) and the front of his shirt was yanked up. He bit his lip and pushed his chest toward the hot, wet mouth that enveloped his left nipple, sighing in pleasure and feeling like a freaking god from all of the drugs that pumped through every facet of his form. The little nips and licks that ran across his abdomen teased and tantalized him as he reached down to undo his own fly, and then the man's.

He pushed the unnamed young man back and dropped to his knees, pulling the already-hard member from those fabulous ass-hugging pants that he was wearing and pulled it into his mouth. He bobbed his head up and down on it a few times until it was good and wet and pulled away. He stood up, turned around, and the sexy Cuban citizen pulled his jeans down just far enough to uncover his ass. Canada had to bend his knees a little to allow the slightly shorter man easier access. He pressed his cheek against the cold brick and his breath hitched as he felt the slick head push up against his hole. Push, push, in a little deeper. It probably should have hurt, just having someone stick it in like that, but he was high enough to not give two beavers about something like 'I'm going to regret this in the morning'. He let out a breathy moan as it finally slid up to the hilt inside him, it was hot and thick and just felt so, so good. It made him wonder how it would feel if it were Alfred.

And there went his thoughts flying out of his head when the tanned man began thrusting with all of the energy a stimulant provides, catching Canada off guard with the sudden gusto and making him yelp a moan into his hand. He felt like he could feel every thrust through his whole body, each push sending tingling shivers up through his spine and out into his limbs. He shuddered at the feel of those soft yet strong hands gripping his hips with the nails digging into his flesh. He gasped at the way the man rolled his hips, it was like he was psychic or something and knew exactly where he push, when, and how hard. He felt like his knees were going to turn to jelly when the man leaned up close to his ear and whispered 'eres tan fuerte' in that rolling tongue of his, his hot breath ghosting across Matthew's ear. He reached down and began stroking himself, little puffs of air coming between thinly-parted lips as his eyes fluttered shut and the only things in the whole wide world that mattered were the feel in his lower regions, Alfred, the buzzing glow of cocaine, Alfred, and Mr. McNameless back there. Oh, and probably Alfred.

And all at once he thought of that kiss, his first and only kiss with his brother in centuries of life. Anonymous slammed into him and he felt the hot fluid spill out into his body. The feel of the cum and his own hand and the coke mixed with the memory of that amazing, perfect kiss all sent him slamming over the edge harder than he had in months.

And then it was a blur again. More dancing, more drugs, more women, more shots. He threw up into an older (maybe thirty-five?) woman's lap, fell down the stairs, tried putting maple syrup into a Bloody Mary (delicious, of course). The last thing he could remember was licking a ground up Ecstasy pill from some hot little lady's flat brown stomach with a suggestive glint in his eyes and a little wink.

He groaned and rolled over, burying his aching head further into the soft covers. He felt like he had been run down by a Mac truck, his head hurt, his eyes hurt, his arms and legs and the knuckles on his right hand ached. His bum hurt, too. "I'm gonna regret this tomorrow." He mumbled hoarsely with a pathetic-sounding chuckle, rubbing his eyes and trying futilely to blink away the pain of a rather wicked hangover. He felt dirty and nasty all over. There was no way he took a shower before he had gone to bed. He thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't human. Yeah, he had a headache. So what? He would probably be dead if he were human, how much coke did he do? How much did he drink? It took a country to kill a country, so he hadn't needed to worry too hard about overdosing. He was also glad he didn't have to fret about the nastier things in life, such as the STDs one could get from humping away with some complete stranger in a dirty back alley.

His mouth tasted like strippers. What did that even mean? He didn't know, nor did he care. Slowly he began wondering where exactly he might be sleeping. He couldn't remember much about the end of the night, and absolutely nothing about leaving. He hoped he hadn't gone home with some strange person. His curiosity finally taking full hold, he sat up and looked around to let out a relieved sigh. It was Cuba's guest room. Stretching his sore muscles, he looked to the wall clock and saw that it was noon. Well, he had nothing to be up for so it was okay to have woken up so late. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, feeling rumpled and dirty in the jeans and T-shirt he must have just plopped down to bed in. His bag was sitting on the dresser.

About a half hour later he was showered, changed, and sitting downstairs in the kitchen with Cuba eating a fried egg and some toast. They recounted the night's excitement between bites, congratulating one another on conquests and berating faux pas. Cuba invited him for another night of wild partying but Matthew declined. 'I'm not sure if I can handle another night of that.' They both laughed. In all reality the Canadian was thinking about Alfred. He wanted to get him something nice and drop it off on his way home. A little more conversation and he went to do just that. He caught a plane to America's house. He slept the entire ride and was nearly left behind after everyone else had gotten off because no one really noticed that he was there, sleeping with his face pressed against the cool glass. He woke up and had to run to the cockpit to stop the plane as they were bringing it to the hanger.

A taxi-ride later he found himself at some mall or other, perusing the wares and trying to pick something that he was sure America would like. He saw a rather dekey pair of sneakers and a "super pack" of Alfred's favorite cologne. He looked through a bookstore until he remembered seeing a picture on the internet a while back of a bald eagle ripping a book to shreds with it's talons to the backdrop of his brother's flag. Underneath the picture was the caption 'Reading is for Fags'. He chuckled at the stab at his brother's intelligence and decided to stop wasting time in the book store. He went to a video game shop and looked through the new first person shooters, but he was sure that Alfred already owned them all. He considered looking through movies but Alfred only wanted to watch his own films, so there was really not much new to show him. As he was wandering he quite seriously considered a massive wheel of cheese. Candy, perhaps? Or maybe he could get a gift for himself. He stood in one of the stores, eyeing a large can of industrial strength raccoon poison. He could put it in his food. Naw, not today anyway.

As he was walking past a bakery he made his decision. Soon he was walking out to a car rental store, box of fruit cake under his arm. America must have liked them, considering how many he gave away during holidays. Car rented and rather heavy-looking cake in the back seat (buckled up, of course), Matthew set out downtown. No, Alfred didn't live downtown, but Matthew wasn't planning on stopping at his house until the sun was down. The large star still gripped to it's rule of the sky, hanging low over the land and casting an eerie glow across the city. This part of town was seedy and generally frowned upon. It was exactly the kind of place Canada was looking for. Alfred danced about in his mind, wheeling round and round like some kind of old cartoon's background. His voice, his eyes, his beautiful (and kissable, or god so kissable) lips. He was loud and irritating and god damn it all did Matthew burn with need for him. He wanted to submit to him, he wanted to make him submit. He wanted to climb inside of him and become one in a way to where they could never be separated. He wanted to touch him and love him and fuck him and hurt him and kill him all at once. He wanted to gently wipe the tears from his cheeks and tell him that everything would be alright. He wanted to hit him with some blunt object over and over again until he just stopped moving. He wanted to make him laugh and cry and smile and scream and moan out 'Matthew' in the throes of passion, but most of all he wanted to be part of him in every way. He wanted to be him in every way.

So he cruised somewhat slowly along those streets, watching the people wander up and down the blocks. His eyes passed over the women like they were invisible in their short skirts, fishnet stockings, and low-cut shirts. They waved at him and smiled, peddling their mediocre wares. His eyes rested on the far fewer men wandering the street, smoking cigarettes and nodding his way when their eyes made contact. Most of them wore cheap Kmart button up shirts and slacks, but one… One, with short blonde hair and big blue eyes was wearing a yellow T-shirt and tight jeans. Red and white runners, maybe 170cm tall, also smoking. Why did they all smoke? Either way, in the right lighting Canada was sure that he would resemble America quite well from the back. He drove by once, making eye contact. The guy's smile was big and bright, much more attractive than the half-assed little nods the other's were offering. He rounded the block and drove up again. This time the guy stepped from the curb and took a few steps toward his car. Matthew pulled up alongside him.

He lowered his window and the guy stuck his head in. "Hey."

Canada swallowed thickly, his eyes dropping to stare at the passenger seat rather than the man hanging out at his window. "Hi." His voice was even more whispered than it usually was.

"You wanna take a ride?" The guy asked, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag. He blew the bluish-grey smoke from his nostrils and smiled warmly. Matthew just nodded and the man, well more like boy since he couldn't have been older than seventeen, pulled the door open and hopped in. He didn't buckle up, but when was the last time a whore cared about their wellbeing? "Pleased to meet you."

As Matthew drove down the street to his usual spot, he turned momentarily to eye the kid in confusion. 'Pleased to meet you'? "It's a pleasure to meet you, as well." He muttered, feeling even more awkward now.

"You from up north somewhere?"

"How did you know?"

"I can tell from your accent. You kinda sound like my friend Jimmy; he grew up in way north Minnesota."

"I guess it's that obvious, eh?"

The kid laughed quietly as he flicked his cigarette butt from the open window as the car rolled into the parking lot of some seedy motel. Matthew had him wait in the car while he rented a room, and then had him follow up to room A-64 ('second floor, first door on the right' the clerk had said, her voice low and cracking from what sounded like years of heavy smoking). Once the door was shut Matthew just stood there and watched the boy bound over the bed and throw himself onto it with far more good humor than would be expected of a kid who needed to do this sort of a thing so young. He did resemble Alfred somewhat. He's would probably dim the lights and take his glasses off first, but as long as he could pass it was alright. His hair was a more dirty blonde, but beggars can't be choosers. "Take a shower first, please. It's not like I think you're dirty or something, it's just-!" He exclaimed, waving his hands before himself and sputtering over the rude-sounding request.

"Don't fret on it, man. It's cool." The kid got up with an amused chuckle and walked to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind himself. He didn't lock it.

Matthew felt like he was sweating bullets as he heard the shower begin to run with a creaking gurgle. It wasn't like this was the first time he had found himself in this kind of situation, but he was still mortified. He sat at the foot of the bed and turned the TV on, staring at the screen unseeingly as he considered just leaving. Of course he would leave some money on the bed for wasting the kid's time, but he thought he was going to have a heart attack from nervousness. Was it strange to be as embarrassed as he was? Just because he had this kind of exchange on a fairly regular basis it didn't mean that he was just going to kick the door down and barge in, dick in hand, bellowing something like 'Your ass is mine, bitch!' Just the idea made him turn red.

Finally, about half-way through a rerun of the cartoon starring yellow people the shower ended and the kid stepped into the room, a towel around his waist. Matthew waved him over and shyly patted the spot next to him on the bed. "What's your name?" The kid asked.

"Matthew."

"Cool, I'm-"

Canada brought his hand up abruptly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, I know that was rude. I'm going to call you Alfred, is that alright?" He asked, turning to look 'Alfred' in the eyes.

"That's cool." Canada had expected as much. He was sure that this kid got weirder requests on a nightly basis so something like that was to be expected. Steeling his resolve he pulled his glasses from his face and set them aside on the side table softly. He then turned back to the wet blonde and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. His hand ran over the smooth flesh of his cheek and his eyes fell shut as the kid kissed him back with his eyes open. Canada pushed him gently to his back, deepening the kiss. It tasted like cigarettes and mint chewing gum. His fingers ran through the just slightly too short hair lovingly as his tongue rolled within the young mouth. This child here, he was a citizen of the United States. That meant that he was a tiny part of his beloved big brother and his member stiffened at the though. Although this was akin to kissing one of Alfred's cells, it was still part of him.

He moved away from the hot little mouth to kiss along the whore's jaw bone and down his neck, stopping to suck the sensitive skin into his mouth and smile at the little moan that the dirty blonde uttered. His hands slowly unfolded the small towel from his waist and pulled it away. His fingertips slipped over the smooth skin there and the thought 'he shaves' flitted across Matthew's mind. He moved his head further down to lick and nip at a small pink bud, enjoying the taste and shudders that ran through the kid's body. His hands traveled all about the lightly tanned skin and he wished the dang kid would eat something more often. He was too thin. He kissed across the flat stomach and down to where his pubic hair should have been. Tossing his hair out of the way he took the somewhat medium-small member into his mouth and gave it a strong suck. 'Alfred' moaned softly, one of his hands snaking down to stroke Canada's wavy locks.

The country ran his tongue up and down over the hardened length, stopping to swirl it over the head before he bobbed back down and took it into his mouth once more. The kid's breathes quickened as Matthew worked his cock with his mouth, thrusting lightly up into the hot orifice. After giving it one more long, flat-tongued lick Canada sat up and pulled his pants off, setting them next to his glasses. He took a bottle of lube he had set side up from the edge of the bed and poured a good amount onto his hand, slicking it over his erection. He used his knees to push the young man's legs apart as he used one hand to hold himself up and the other to aim towards the small pink entrance. He pushed in slowly, gauging the kid's reaction. Normally prep wasn't something you needed to worry about with whores, since they were used so often that it had become unnecessary, but he was so young Matthew worried that he hadn't yet reached that level of desensitization. Clearly this kid had led a harder life than he had thought, though. He just winced a little as it slid into his body, showing about the same amount of discomfort as someone who wasn't too terribly accustomed to anal sex would have after a good chunk of time dedicated to stretching.

It was kind of sad. Oh well.

Canada sat back on his knees and took the boy by the hips and began thrusting, enjoying the hot, tight heat that was wrapped around him. He thought of Alfred; Alfred when they were little, playing in the dirt and eating bugs. Alfred during his cowboy phase, chasing him about the yard with a lasso. Alfred in the '70s, his hair long and his clothes always reeking of pot. Alfred stretching before the Olympics, Alfred licking a stray glob of 'special sauce' from his forearm where it had fallen. Doing a cannon ball into the pool, picking his nose when he thought no one was looking, sitting at his desk with a serious look on his face while he was working.

Hs thrusts became harder as he lifted the kid's hips to find a better angle to slam into the decadent hole, gasping from the effort but unwilling to stop his pleasure midway to deal with something as trivial as breathing. The nicotine addict he was fucking helped by using his legs to hold himself up as his hand stroked his dick in time with Matthew's thrusts, moaning loudly and letting out little yelps and whines when he was slammed particularly hard. Three more pumps was all he needed when he cried out and came onto his stomach and chest, his sphincter clenching tightly as he rode his orgasm. Scrunching his eyes shut, the Canadian thrust as hard and deep into the boy as he could.

"I love you, Alfred!" He sputtered and came, his hot seed spilling into the quivering little entrance. He just kneeled there for a moment, catching his breath. Using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead he pulled out of the panting blonde and turned away.

"Um… Um." He was suddenly overcome by shyness at what he had said mid-orgasm. "Sorry, that was weird."

"No worries." The kid got up and walked to the bathroom. "That'll be a hundred bucks."

"Yeah." Matthew pulled his pants back on and dug into the pocket, retrieving his wallet and pulling out two fifty dollar bills and setting them onto the bed next to himself. Some five minutes later the kid emerged from the bathroom fully dressed. He smiled charmingly as he took the money and stuffed it into his pants pocket. At the same time he retrieved a bent cigarette from his soft pack and lit up, inhaling deeply. He held it out to Canada, who politely declined.

"Thanks for your business, Up North. I hope you consider me again in the future." And with that he left, jogging down the steps to just saunter lazily down the road and back to his space on the strip, little white puffs floating out from his head as if he were an outdated train.

Canada felt dirty so he took a shower, packed his things, and checked out from the room. He jumped back into his car and felt a confusing fixture of shame and happiness about what he had just done. But he always had that feeling when he drove away from those seedy motels and those dirty little people. He felt pathetic and sated all at once. It was 10:36pm so he decided that it was late enough to show up at his brother's house. It was certainly dark enough. He hopped on the freeway and followed it past three exits until he saw the one that he always took. Take a right onto the exit ramp, follow a little loop and end up traveling left. Drive past two Denny's and a KFC, take a right at the cemetery. Six blocks down and take a right. He pulled up at the curb some three houses down the street from his brother's and turned the car off. He locked it and stepped out, carrying the cake box under his arm. He eyed the domicile as he walked nonchalantly toward it. Alfred should be getting out of the shower soon.

He walked around to the side of the house and set the box gently into the bushes before he turned his attention to a rather large tree that was right next to Alfred's window. Doing a few warm-up stretches and cracking his knuckles, he began to shimmy up the tree like he had done so many times before. He was so fast at it by this point that we should just resign as a country (yeah, as if that was possible) and live in the jungle somewhere. Matthew, King of the Jungle! Partying with the apes and swinging across the vines! Settling himself in a comfortable laying position on a fat branch that allowed him to look directly into the well-furnished and nicely lit room, he patted himself on the back and felt a glow of pride as Alfred open the master bathroom's door and emerged into his room in only a towel about his waist and one draped lazily over his head. He was rubbing it through his hair and singing along with the television. Toothpaste commercial, Matthew noted. He would have to learn the words.

He watched, enraptured, as Alfred walked about his room doing his every day things. He combed his hair, wandered about brushing his teeth, cleaned his ears. He clipped his toe nails (Matthew would need to get those) and tossed them into the waste bin in the corner. He yawned and stretched. Why was he so tired? Had he been busy today, or maybe yesterday? Canada hadn't heard anything about plans. He had checked the TV Guide as well, and there weren't supposed to be any marathons of those awful reality shows that Alfred liked so much. Odd.

He shimmied a little closer on his belly, squeezing the branch with his thighs as to not fall off. Alfred yawned again and looked at his bed as if to consider just hitting the sack right then. Matthew checked his watch. His big brother didn't go to bed until between midnight and two in the morning, and yet it was barely eleven. What had happened? He wiggled further just a bit more and his eyes shot wide when he heard a loud crack. The branch lurched down, at first seeming to be fine until, with a loud snapping sound it broke from the trunk and slammed onto the grassy yard. Canada sat up, groaning and pulling twigs from his hair when he heard the front door swing open. Alfred was coming! Looking back and forth frantically, Matthew made a snap decision and flung himself into the prickly rose bushes, just barely missing the cake.

The glow of a flashlight bobbed from the front of the house as Alfred wandered over to the tree and let out a loud profanity at his tree breaking. His hair was still wet and the top of his pajamas was on backwards. He looked about himself in an attempt to find the culprit. Matthew flattened himself to the dirt, biting back the wince that tried to slide from his throat at the sensation of so many thorns digging into his body at once. Finally America seemed satisfied that it was a freak accident, so he turned around and went back into the house. Canada sighed as he pulled himself from the sharp bushes. After taking a moment to pull all of the thorns he could find from his flesh and toss them away, he turned and gave the tree a swift kick, only managing to hurt his toes. As he hopped around cursing quietly to himself his attention was drawn to the trash can sitting in the back yard. With a little shrug he went about his usual hobby of rummaging through it.

So many food containers, it was ridiculous. Old apple and toilet paper cores, a shirt that gotten ripped (he pocketed it), some dead lighters, a few empty cigarette boxes, a burned-down candle. And then, all at once, he felt his heart skip a beat and his skin prickled with goose bumps when he pulled a used condom from the can. From the consistency, freshly used. It was cold but still wet. This… This was why his brother was tired? A cold bolt of rage shot through Matthew's body and all at once he felt sick with hate.

Who thought they had the right to touch his brother? To touch his Alfred and be touched by him? Closing the can, he slunk by the side of the house and back to the rose bushes to retrieve the cake. Setting it at the doorstep he rang the bell some four times in a row and bolted back to his car. By the time Alfred came to the door and found the cake Matthew had driven off into the darkness.


	4. Hate

Matthew pushed the hair from his face and tried readjusting his uncomfortable position on the hard ground. He lay in a patch of bushes (not the rose kind this time around, thankfully) across the street from Alfred's house, his trusty pair of binoculars over his eyes. Although he was sure that no one would have noticed him there even if he were wearing his bright red mounty uniform and singing 'Hips Don't Lie' at he very top of his lungs, he was wearing a camo shirt and a black pair of jeans to try and blend into the shadows a little better. It was day three of 'Operation Find Out Who The Heck His Brother Was Fucking' and he was ornery and tired. The first day he had called everyone he worked for or with and politely told them all to kindly fuck off for a while and packed everything that he would need: A week's worth of clothes and food and his spying equipment were tossed into his car and he was off. The second day he tapped America's phones, set up small surveillance bugs in his car and throughout his home, and began his twenty-four hour tracking. Alfred woke up at ten o' five in the morning. The first thing he did was go to the bathroom and mutter angrily about Mexican food. He took a twenty-seven minute shower and got ready. For breakfast he had two eggs, a massive pile of hash browns, and two cups of coffee. He ate while reading the Times and leaning dangerously far back in his chair.

He got a phone call from a telemarketer. He told them to 'fuck off and stop calling so early' before he hung up. He went to the store and bought eggs, milk, and (much to Canada's silent rage) another pack of condoms. 'Studded for you pleasure'. It came up to $14.86. The cashier looked friendly. They had better be friendly to his big brother, if they knew what was good for them. He drove to some fast food joint (how much did he need to eat in a day?) and ordered a chicken sandwich meal with a large fry and a strawberry shake. The man who took his order had a thick Scandinavian accent. It was $11.56. He filled his gas tank and bought another pack of cigarettes at a station (smoked one next to the pumps). He then went down to a local church for an hour and fifteen minutes (it was Sunday, after all, and Alfred could be a real religious nut at times). Once he was done there he took a walk around the downtown area, seemingly at random. He got another call. It was a woman, she asked him if he was busy the next day. Alfred said no, asked her if she wanted to do something. She laughed and said yes. Canada's hands clenched into tight fists at their laid-back exchange and he felt the nails break the skin of his palms and didn't care, but he couldn't be sure that that woman was the culprit just yet. He would need to wait until the next day.

Alfred went to a bar and ate yet again, bumped into some of his human buddies and played some cards. He lost twenty-five dollars. They all parted ways and Alfred headed home. It was 6:30PM when he left, and almost seven by the time he arrived at his suburban dwelling. He fed his cat and played an FPS for a couple of hours, yelling at people through the headset. He ate again, microwaving a TV dinner and wolfing it down through an episode of that cartoon with the talking sea life. He watched the news while he digested. By about 10:30 he got into his exercise clothes and took a run through a park that was close to his home. After his work out was over he got into the shower for ten minutes to freshen up a bit. He threw in a load of laundry and used a cat teaser to play with his pet for about ten minutes. He vacuumed (laughing as he chased the terrified animal about the living room) and swept. Threw the clothes into the drier and yawned, his hand over his mouth and one eye shut. He had a snack of some chocolate chip cookies over an episode of The X-files and went to bed at 1:26AM.

It was now day three and although Matthew was sore from running all about town after his brother and needing to hide in some of the most uncomfortable spots, he felt more awake than the five hours of sleep he had caught called for. His stomach grumbled incessantly (he was far too busy the day before to eat anything beyond a granola bar) and his back ached. He pulled a canteen of water from it's little perch on his thigh and took a long pull of the cool water. He returned the binoculars to his eyes as he slowly licked a few drops of water from his lips, peeking into Alfred's window and watching his lump of a form wriggle about under the blankets. Through the ear bud Canada wore he heard the alarm clock begin to shriek. It was nine twenty-five. What a strange time to set an alarm for, but no matter. He was waking up. He stretched and climbed out from the soft bed, slapping his alarm off as he made his way to the bathroom. Canada let out an excited little puff of air from his nostrils when the American forgot to close the door behind himself and urinated.

"It's a good thing I didn't forget this." Matthew huffed, zooming in with his rather expensive camera to snap a few pictures. Just because he had important business to attend to, that didn't mean that it had to be all work and no play. He took a moment while Alfred was in the shower to dig into his bag and pull out a can of green beans and scarf it down, rolling onto his side to try and alleviate some of the pain in his back. He needed to start bringing something softer to lay on because dang it this was ridiculous. The bud in his ear relayed the sound of the water being turned off so he rolled onto his back and watched though the window again. Everything appeared to be upside down. America got dressed (nicer clothes than he usually wore. Why didn't he dress up like that when he was going to Canada's house?) and combed his hair. He pulled a silver cross necklace on and clipped it with some difficulty. It was followed by a large golden ring on the right middle finger and a rather stylish belt. Canada whistled quietly to himself and snapped a few more pictures. Alfred was looking hot.

Alfred was looking hot for someone else. His mood darkened again and he set his camera aside and wriggled a little on the hard ground. Was it a date? It sure looked like a date. He grimaced when the oblivious blonde sent out a text and disappeared from the room, headed downstairs. Matthew didn't have a way to pick up his texts, only phone calls. All of the audio bugs in the world wouldn't help him in that area. He didn't have to dwell on it too long, though. Alfred walked from his house and locked the door behind himself (as if that had ever kept Matthew out) and made his way to the garage. As he was getting situated in his shiny Porsche the Canadian army-crawled over to his own vehicle. Of course he brought one that the American wouldn't immediately recognize. He slid into the driver's seat and buckled up, wiping a smear of dirt from his cheek as he put the car in drive and followed once Alfred's car had rounded the corner.

He drove for quite some time until they had pulled in to a large hospital parking lot. He parked on the other side of the lot and watched as Alfred climbed from his car and leaned on the glimmering hood. He pulled his cell from his pocket and made a short call. "I'm outside in the parking lot."

"I'll be right there."

Canada recognized the voice immediately. It was the same woman from the day before. He took another mouthful of water as he waited apprehensively for the mystery person to show. And there she was, he could tell by the infuriating way his brother's face lit up when she stepped out from the automatic doors. Her hair was long and black and wavy, dusting back and forth across the small of her back as she walked. She was a pretty little thing, that was for sure. Probably Mexican-American, petite, deeply tanned skin and a bountiful chest. Her tiny waist led down to the hips that swayed seductively with every step, and she had an ass like no other. Thick thighs, exotic-looking face with full pouting lips. Well la-de-fucking-da, wasn't she just quite the catch? He wanted to rip his steering wheel from it's base and use it to smash his own car to pieces when they embraced next to Alfred's car. He actually had to look away when they kissed. It was more like a light peck but it was all too much for him to look upon at the moment. Those lips, Alfred's lips, were his and how dare that whore defile them with her nastiness?

Fighting off a bout of hyperventilation, Canada turned to look at them once more, to see that they had climbed into the car and were actually leaving the parking lot. Pulling his own car into gear he followed behind with his mind churning over what was happening and what, exactly, he was going to do about it. In all honesty he had hoped that this whole thing would have turned out to be nothing but a misunderstanding (how can a used condom in the trash be a misunderstanding?) and he would have gone home feeling foolish. He hadn't come up with any plan at all about how to rid himself of the nuisance if it had actually turned out to be something real. So he just followed them, gritting his teeth as he listened in on their conversation. It was so full of fresh-couple that it made him want to throw up. Her little giggles pissed him off and Alfred's crappy jokes made him seethe. He was the one that Alfred should have been feeding those cheesy lines to. How could his brother do this? How could he go out with some skank when he had a perfectly loving sibling waiting for him? Didn't he care about how he made Matthew feel? Didn't he even just care enough to push that bitch out of the car and be rid of her?

He hated her with every ounce of his being. He could even feel it in the tips of his hair. He hated her for getting between him and his beloved brother, he hated himself for obviously not being what Alfred wanted, and most of all he had a heavy rock of burning hate for Alfred himself sitting in his stomach for causing all of this by not learning to just keep it in his freakin' pants already! He watched them pull into a parking lot for some batting cages as he rolled on by to park a little ways down the street. He crept down the sidewalk and slipped into the establishment behind them. It was automated; People come in and pay at little individual kiosks, choosing the amount of time that they wanted and the intensity of the pitches with two little dials. It cost five dollars for ten minutes. Alfred pushed one of his green dollars into the slot and it spat it back out at him. Tried again, it wouldn't take it. Smoothed it out on the corner of the wall and it finally sucked it up. Medium intensity, please and thank you.

The device that pitched the balls was half-hidden behind a brick wall, with only the nozzle exposed. Behind that wall was where Canada was hiding, his back pressed up against the cool brick as he peeked around the edge and focused on staying invisible. Remaining unnoticed wasn't something that he had full control of, but if he focused on it with some high level of effort the effect became more pronounced and even people like Kumaringo wouldn't see him. His violet eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Alfred and That Woman laugh at some joke his brother had told. You know, one of the basics like 'so a horse walks into a bar'. Everything about her angered him; the way she moved, the way she would cover her mouth with the side of her fist when she laughed, how when she said a word that began with a 'b' her lips would really pop, making an 'o' shape so that the letter came out more like 'bo' than just 'b'. "Al, hand me the 'bo'at", "how a'bo'out you shut up!" "that's 'bo'ecause you're so cool". It was weird and it sounded weird and god damn it all how could Alfred stand it? When she was pretending to be mad her cheeks puffed up with air and when she made a joke she would always put her left hand on her hip. She was just so irritating in her sad attempts at being cute.

And then Alfred took a bat and prepared himself to hit a few balls. He stood there for a moment, wiping a little drop of sweat from his forehead with the sun shining down on him like a spotlight. His hair shimmered under the hot light and a small gust of wind sent it flowing beautifully, his left hand spinning the bat in slow circles at his side. Matthew swallowed audibly as he watched America get into position and tell That Woman to press 'start'. Oh maple he was just so dang attractive. Canada jumped, startled, when the machine at his side shot out a ball with a grinding 'pop'. While Alfred went about swinging away (hit twelve, missed three) Canada slunk around the machine to get a good look at it. Big and square-ish, mostly grey. The balls must have come from the tube that led into the main building a little ways away, and there was a little control panel on the side that dealt with turning the machine on and off, as well as the intensity. Matthew crept back to the hole and peeked out when he heard his brother talking to That Woman.

He felt like his stomach was going to curl up and rot when he saw that Alfred was doing that oh so cliché move that he loved to slap into all of his terribly sappy romance movies. 'Oh no! I can't function!' The heroine would say after being absolutely brutal at whatever it was she was trying to do. 'Let me help you' the handsome stranger would interject in that sticky-suave way and go about showing her how to do whatever it was. And he would always have to stand pressed up to her back, his voice low against her ear, his arms around her as he held whatever tool they were working at the time. Alfred was doing just that, pressed up against That Woman (who was blushing and looking at the ground) and offering little bits of advice as his hands held hers over the bat. While he was talking he took a moment to plant a little kiss on her ear and Canada raged about in the tiny space, whispering all manner of curses to himself and using up every ounce of willpower he had to not just jump out before them and beat That Woman to death with his bare hands. There were times when he wished that he was a s gun-crazy as his big brother.

He slipped back to the side of the machine, groaning at the stifling heat, and cranked the intensity to the highest level. He looked out again and snickered meanly to himself when Alfred backed away and pushed the 'on' button. The balls shot out like they were thrown by a professional, one after another, and it was just so funny how That Woman shrieked and cowered against the painful assault. She was hit by four by the time Alfred had managed to get to her and pull her away, and it was even funny that he was hit by them as well. It was what he deserved for being out with some whore. Oh of course, she was crying. What a whiner, it was only a few baseballs to the midsection and chest, what was there to cry about? And god damn it now Alfred was hugging her. He helped her up and held her close to himself, pushing some of her hair from her face and wiping up a tear with his finger as he said something Canada was too busy losing himself in rage to actually hear. Alfred smiled and she smiled in return. They packed up their things and began to leave.

They went to see a movie, something sappy and romantic (Matthew rolled in rage as they spent the whole damn time kissing and giggling). They went out to a little café to eat and Canada sat a little ways away from them, his face hidden behind a newspaper. He paid off a waiter to spit in their food. He shook with concealed laughter at the look on their faces when they noticed the thick tendrils of saliva mixed amongst their meal. Quite appalled, Alfred argued with the manager for some ten minutes and then left, turning down the offer for complementary free food. They went to an arcade and Canada (knowing that Alfred only ever used the left dance pad) slicked the right pad of a popular full-body rhythm game with some lotion he had been carrying. He peeked from a nearby photo booth and grinned when That Woman slipped mid-song and fell down with a painful thud.

And now here they were, sitting on a thin blanket that Alfred had purchased some ten minutes ago from a small store, setting out picnic foods. Canada was peeking at them from behind a tree, gnawing his fingernails as he tried to figure a way to mess up this particular activity until he saw a man a little ways away playing fetch with his rather large German Sheppard.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Wait, what, who said that?"

"Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Dude, I didn't even see you. Haha, sorry about that."

"May I ask a favor?"

"What's up?"

"You see those people over there?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll give you a hundred bucks to run your dog through their picnic and mess it up."

"…What?"

"I'll pay you one hundred American dollars, cash, to leash your dog and pretend that it's gotten from your control and run through their stuff."

"A hundred bucks?"

"Yes."

"Why? That guy steal your chic or something?"

"Or something."

"So a hundred bucks, huh?"

"Yes, right now."

The bill was passed from Matthew to the man who whistled his dog back and chained it. "This is weird."

"Make sure you don't leave anything unscathed. See if your dog can just eat everything or something. Oh, and be sure to step on That Woman while your at it."

"R-right."

The man took off running towards them, shouting lamely for his dog to stop running. The dog almost did stop running a few times, but he got it moving again. That Woman shrieked when the dog ran across the blanket, scattering food about and the man actually managed to trip over a thermos on accident and slam into her. Alfred stood and moved back and forth, seemingly unsure of what to save. His girlfriend rolling around on the ground, now wet with food and drink and being squished by the guy with the dog? The food that was being wolfed down by a rather large canine? His own fancy clothes that would surly be ruined by the mess if he tried to jump into it? Canada sat behind the tree laughing loudly into his hands until it hurt. By the time his mirth had faded off into soft giggles and an ache in his ribs the man had wrangled his dog and apologized profusely before running off. That Woman looked a mess and appeared to be on the verge of tears again and Alfred looked rather distraught. His expression said something like 'Why is my day turning out so crappy?'

When she turned around Alfred burst out laughing at the tomato that was stuck to her bum, and to all of Matthew's chagrin she began to laugh as well. They just laughed and laughed and laughed together at the ridiculousness of the situation as they went about cleaning the mess that was supposed to be their dinner. And once everything was in a neat pile they sat on the grass and began pawing at each other like a bad day was some kind of aphrodisiac and Matthew felt tears sting his eyes at the knowledge that everything he had tried just was not working. He watched, deep in a pool of jealously and hate as they rolled about on the grass together. There was only one thing he could do to stop them from going back to one of their houses and rubbing around on each other in some disgusting way. The wavy-haired blonde jogged away toward where Alfred had parked his beautiful Porsche. Taking a small knife from his belt, he looked around and saw no one. A stab and yank, on to the next tire to stab and yank, and the way around until all four tires were quite thoroughly slashed. Hell, why stop there? Drag that blade up and down across the immaculate paint job while cringing at the awful sound it was making. Well it was sad to see the pretty car violated in such a way and he knew it would make his brother sad, but Alfred had made him do it! If he would have just gone home instead of persisting on touching that horrible woman he would have had his car spared.

It worked out exactly as planned. Alfred and That Woman made their way up from the park hand in hand, all smiles and flushed cheeks. Alfred saw the horrible state of his car and just stared and stared and stared before he took a deep and shaky breath. He called for a taxi and a tow truck. He reassured her that he was fine but this was just all too much and he had a lot to do with his car. The taxi showed up and she climbed in.

Matthew was sitting in his own car, listening to the exchange through his ear bud. Alfred leaned in towards his girlfriend and kissed her lightly on the nose with a slightly strained smile. "I'll call ya later, okay?"

"I'm sure they'll find out who did it, Al."

"I know, baby." And as he pulled back, "I love you."

She smiled sweetly and returned the sentiment. Matthew could feel bile rising in his throat so he pushed his car door open and stuck his head out but all that came up was a crazed fit of laughter. Love? Love? He knew his brother was self-absorbed but to say that he 'loves' one of his citizens was beyond narcissism. Playing around with them, befriending them, even rutting away with them was a fairly common thing that every nation did, but to love? It was like loving a strand of hair, a skin cell, one single white blood cell! It was ridiculous and stupid so there was no way in hell he could actually mean it! There was no way, right? Right? His laughter cracked and he pushed his hand over his mouth to try and muffle it lest his brother hear him. There was absolutely no way in hell, right? His eyes began to sting and all at once tears began to fall, fat and glistening, down onto the concrete and yet he just continued to laugh. It was actually starting to hurt. He heard her address through the little speaker in his ear and he laughed harder and harder, struggling to breath and wincing at the pain in his side.

Still cackling he sat back in his seat and shut the door. He started the car and pulled away, leaving his brother to wait for the tow truck. Love! There was no way it was true and if it was then there was only one way to cut that right in the bud. The thought brought on another hysterical fit of laughter as he cruised down the road to the van that he was staying in.

Bobby pins sure did come in handy. Canada fixed them about here and there in his hair and with a hat on they gave the appearance of having a shorter style. He tucked his ahego up into the hat then changed into a black T-shirt and blue jeans. Pulled on a worn pair of runners. He looked into the small mirror that he had and winked at himself. It was a fairly good disguise. He climbed out of the back of the white van he was using to sleep in while in the states and looked up at the sliver of a moon that hung in the sky. He nodded to himself and smiled.

In half an hour he parked out front of a well taken care of apartment building. 194 Thistle Street. Now which apartment was it? It was time for a little trial and error. So he went to every door and knocked. Some weren't answered. Random people came from others and he laughed as charmingly as he could, "oh, I'm sorry to wake you, I must be at the wrong one." And, some twenty minutes of misfires later, he knocked on apartment number 86, second floor. That Woman answered the door in an airy blue slip that accentuated the rise of her breasts and clung to all the right curves. At first a look of confusion, followed by a large smile.

"Al! What a surprise, come on in!" She said, moving to the side to let Matthew in. Well, apparently the disguise was working. Her apartment was warm and inviting, with various pictures of friends and family lining the walls. The entry area was hardwood that changed to a soft brown carpet in the living room. The lighting was soft and it smelled like flowers and that powder you sprinkle onto a carpet before vacuuming. How quaint.

"Why are you here? Did they find anything out about your car?" She asked as she shut the door and locked it.

"No, I just wanted to come over."

"Sweetie, what's wrong with your voice? It's so quiet."

"I- I think I'm coming down with something." When she walked by he noticed that she smelled like cotton candy. It was kind of nauseating in it's sweetness. She smelled like a stripper. Matthew followed behind her and took a seat on the soft loveseat when it was offered.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah." She left the room and he hated her more than he had before, if that was possible. He hated her for clearly being unable to tell the difference between himself and his brother. He could tell the difference, so how could anyone claiming to be in love with Alfred not be able? She was a whore, and now he knew that she was a liar.

"You're lucky, I just had dinner an hour ago." She said happily, coming into the room with a bowl of soup that she had heated in the microwave. She set it in front of him on the coffee table. Canada forced a smile and swallowed a spoonful. He stiffened when she down next to him, her ankles crossed and knees pointing in his direction.

"What do you think?" She put a small hand onto his thigh and he wanted to punch her in the mouth.

"It's good." And it was, but he was damn sure that she had never gone through as much trouble as he had to feed the American. He had put his everything into all of the food he cooked for that man, so how in the hell could she claim to love him when she only fed him something as half-hearted as this? Why did Alfred like her so much when Matthew could one-up everything that she had to offer? He put the spoon into the bowl and pushed it away from himself. What was he here for, anyway? All he knew was that he had come with the intention of getting her out of his brother's life… somehow. But how? He looked around, barely hearing her words, and considered different ways to go about breaking up with her.

Alarms went off in his head when her hand slipped over his thigh and settled on his crotch. "I know why you're here." She was saying with a seductive smile, "Need to work out some of that stress, right?"

Canada said nothing as she slowly undid his fly and leaned forward to kiss along his neck. Her mouth felt like a slimy leech crawling over his skin and he worried that he was going to throw up. He just sat unmoving as she undid his pants and freed his member, lightly stroking it with her soft, warm fingers. He was completely unsure what to do but he also wondered how well she fared in bed. Was that the reason Alfred liked this particular human so much? She let the flesh of his neck go and leaned down to envelope him in the warm, wet recess of her mouth. As her head moved up and down on him he admitted that it felt nice but he was absolutely sure that he was better in every way. How much practice did she have? By the looks of her maybe four years. He had lifetimes under his belt, damn it, so why the hell did his brother like her so damn much? He felt the anger rising as she worked obliviously, the hate for this woman growing and growing until it all but consumed him. He was better than her in every way! He was a better cook, he was better in bed, he loved and cared for his brother like no one else was capable and here this woman was, stealing his Alfred away! She was irritating and average and nothing but a short-lived useless human so WHY THE HELL WAS SHE WITH HIS BROTHER WHEN HE WASN'T?

He grabbed her by fistful of hair and threw her to the floor with more force than was probably necessary, electing a little squeak of surprise from her. He dropped down over her and pushed the little slip up and out of the way, then snatched her panties and with one hard yank ripped them almost fully from her hips. He hated her so much and hated her more as she moaned softly when he pushed two fingers up into her already moistened sex, testing to see how hard it would be to get it in. He used his other hand to pull his jeans down a little ways as his fingers explored the hot cavern, knowing that his brother had felt this before. This was what she was using to steal his brother and god damn it all it pissed him off.

"H-hey, Al, not so rough." She winced, trying to close her legs.

He pulled his fingers from her and took a moment to aim, pressing the head of his penis against her opening. "Woah, wait! Put on a condom first!" She breathed, wriggling beneath him. So that explained his brother's sudden interest in them. He had thought it was weird that he was wasting time with them, since it wasn't like countries could conceive or mate with humans. There was also no fear of STDs. The fact that his brother was using a useless item to placate this useless woman enraged him even more.

"Shut up." Was all he said as he rammed inside of her so hard that it hurt even him, never mind how painful it must have been for her. After he took a moment to wait for the little ache in the tip of his member to abate, he pushed her legs wide apart and began thrusting into the slick heat and god damn it, it felt good and even that really pissed him off. After a moment her little pained whimpers turned into moans of pleasure that rang out loudly in the comfortably furnished room and she lifted her hips up into his thrusts, apparently having forgotten the need for some form of protection.

As she panted and moaned and wrapped her lithe arms around the back of his neck all he could think of was how utterly betrayed he felt. How many years had he put into his brother? He lavished him in gifts (regardless of whether or not Alfred knew who was leaving random items on his porch from time to time), he was always there for him when he needed someone to talk with or just felt like shooting the shit, he always stood up for him. He had put his heart and his god damned soul into learning everything that there was to know about Alfred and this was how he was repaid? By some useless, irritating woman being the one he decides he wants? He was always ignored and it was only worse when Alfred was nearby. No one took him seriously, it was like he was just some running gag about being totally uninteresting to the point that he was invisible. All England cared about was Alfred, why didn't he care about him? He was as much of a part of the United Kingdom as Alfred was at some point, maybe even more! Even France ignored him more often than not. Matthew spent about half of his time speaking that bastard's language and still he didn't care about him!

"Oh god, Al, this has gotta be the best you're ever given me." That Woman was saying, leaning up on one of her elbows and rolling a nipple between her fingers. Canada looked up into her eyes for the first time since he had arrived, glaring. A look of confusion flashed over her face. "Al, your eyes-"

"I hate you." The words slipped from his lips like a bitter acid as his hands clamped around her thin neck, the pads of his thumbs pushing against her esophagus. Her eyes grew wide and Canada knew that she had finally figured out that he wasn't Alfred. She must have been so confused, did she even know that her boyfriend had a brother? She let out a little squeak.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." Matthew was saying as he increased the pressure on her throat, still slamming into her as he did so. He was squeezing the fragile neck of this girl, this woman, this little bitch whore who had tried to come between himself and his brother. He was strangling her and she was everything. She was her in all of her rage-worthy ways, she was Alfred standing in the sun bat in hand, she was himself in Alfred's eternal shadow, she was the whole damn world and her struggled thrashing just felt so damn good. He took her, claimed her, stole her away from his brother as he stared into her frantic eyes and repeated those words over and over again like some kind of mantra, watching her die with so much pleasure that he was sure he would cum any time.

Her struggling slowed and eventually stopped, her head lolling back and her eyes rolling up a little ways and yet he only squeezed harder and used her like the thing that she was. Humans died so easily, it was actually kind of funny. He pushed into her lifeless body twice more and came with a shudder. And he just stayed hunched over her, still squeezing the unresponsive neck and catching his breath. "I hate you."

Some five minutes passed before the cramp growing in his left hand forced him to finally let go, and he pulled his softened member out with an audible and squishy-sounding 'pop'. Ew. He stood and pulled up his pants, feeling rather filthy for having touched That Woman, so he decided to take a shower. While he stood under the warm spray he tried to figure out what to do with her. He didn't want America finding out that she had been killed since that was sure to send him into a depression for quite some time (he wouldn't been in a 'hanging out' kind of mood, Canada was sure) so he needed to do something with the body. After feeling sufficiently cleaned he climbed out of the tub and dried himself with one of her towels. He had nothing to fear in doing it, as countries didn't have things like finger prints or DNA. He could easily just leave her there, lying in the middle of the room, and never be found out. But he didn't like the idea of hurting Alfred's feelings.

Once he was dressed again (took out the pins and stuffed the hat into his pocket, happy to let his hair down) he walked out to her and took her by an ankle, dragging her behind himself and into the kitchen. It was a good thing his brother didn't like fat women or that would have been very difficult. He looked about himself. Maybe he should chop her up into little pieces and dispose of her that way? It sounded awful messy. He rummaged about in her drawers but only managed to come up with a paring knife, a cheese cutter, and a steak knife. Well that wasn't going to work. He tossed them back into the drawer and closed it. There was obviously no way to make it look like a suicide, so that option was out. Maybe burying her would be the answer? As he thought he sat down on the floor next to her and unpeeled a banana he had procured from the kitchen island.

"What do you think?" He asked her, taking a bite. Well, apparently even in death she was a bitch. She gave no answer and Canada just shrugged. "I don't think that would work too well, I don't want them finding you." He once again entertained the idea of just leaving her there, but he was pretty sure that Alfred intended to visit her the next day and the last thing he needed was his brother whining on and on about his girlfriend dying.

"It would serve him right, messing around with humans. They die all the time, what should you expect out of them?" He muttered to himself between bites. He lifted himself from the floor and grabbed her by the ankle again and just drug her about the house behind himself and he looked around and thought about what he was going to do with her. He stopped down a hallway to look at the pictures hung there. A Christmas photo with her, probably her parents, what appeared to be siblings and a rather large fluffy brown dog. Her with some friends. A picture of Alfred sleeping, his face having been doodled on in marker. He took that one.

"You have to have more of his stuff." He said half to her and half to himself as he drug her limp body behind himself and walked to the bedroom. He stepped in and dropped her in the doorway, then went about scouring the room for any traces of America. A pair of his boxers. Definitely keeping that. A few more pictures in a large wooden dresser. He tore her face from them all and pocketed the Alfred sides. He saw that she had two missed calls. The button beeped when pushed.

"Hey honey, it's mom. Raul's birthday is next week, are you coming to Reno for it? I swear he'll cry if you say no! Call me back tomorrow, alright?"

Beep, deleted.

"Miss Hernandez, this is the dean of McLammin College calling to let you know that I got your entry essay and I must say, it was quite good! I'm hoping to speak with you so that we can set up a meeting to finalize your transfer."

Beep, deleted.

Canada looked back at That Woman's crumpled form and frowned. Maybe water? He nodded and pulled her back to the kitchen where he went about stuffing her into a suitcase he had found in a hall closet. Once it was zipped (he had to sit on it to get it to close) he went into the office and opened Word, where he wrote a short letter:

Al,

I'm eloping with Jackson. I know that you don't know him but I've been having an affair with him for some time now. I should have been more honest with you but better late than never, I suppose.

Goodbye.

He left it flashing on the screen and went back into the kitchen to retrieve her. Although she was relatively light he had some trouble lugging her down the stairs and out to his car, where he dumped her into the trunk. It took twenty minutes to drive out to a lake large and deep enough for his purposes and another half an hour to procure a boat. He unzipped the case a ways and stuffed some large and heavy rocks in with her before he struggled to toss the bag into the little paddle boat before himself. He dropped it onto his foot and yelped in pain, giving it a hard kick. The second time it almost made it in before it slipped the wrong way and fell into the shallow water, splashing him. Third time's a charm, or so they say, and he managed to get the wet and heavy bag into the boat and paddle out to the middle of the still lake. Crickets chirped in the murky twilight as he pushed the suitcase into the water with a loud slash and his boat almost capsized.

Once that was finally over and done with he sat back in the boat and took a minute to relax and catch his breath. It had been an eventful couple of days and he was beginning to feel wiped. He kind of had a hankering for hot chocolate. Maybe when he got home he would just cuddle up with Kumariji and watch movies. A bird called in the distance and now that was felt confident that she wasn't going to float up to the surface he slowly began paddling back to the shore. It really was a nice morning, quite relaxing.

A few days later, Matthew sat at America's kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. Alfred was reading the newspaper. The day after he had disposed of that trash his brother was so fond of keeping, Alfred had called him and told him all about the botched date and the fate of his beautiful car.

"Maybe it's a sign? Maybe God doesn't want you two together?" Canada had said, knowing that throwing God into something always made his brother take it more seriously.

"I dunno, maybe you're right? Sorry I didn't mention her before, bro. I was a little embarrassed thinking that you might say I was self-absorbed or something." He had laughed. "I'll give it more time, though."

The next day he had gone to visit her and found the note. He called Matthew and invited him over. They got drunk and Alfred raged about his home, calling That Woman all sorts of unsavory names before he laid his head down on the table and cried. Matthew was right there behind him, stroking his hair and reassuring him that he was better off without her. She was a liar, she had never loved him. She ran off with some douche bag and clearly didn't care about Alfred at all.

America said that it still hurt. Canada told him that it was okay to be upset.

Alfred was more mad than sad now, but he opted to not talk about it. Canada was alright with that. Now his brother was his again.


	5. Envy

The leaves were a brilliant shade of reddish orange, most of them littering the ground rather than clinging uselessly to the branches of trees. Matthew busied himself outside by raking up the persistent leaves, glad that the work was helping fight against the bite of the chilly wind. Soon the first snow would fall and he would spend most of his winter in his home with Kumafrija, sipping on cocoa and playing Scrabble. He considered going to pay Alfred a visit but every time he looked at him all he could think of was That Woman. It just wasn't fair, she was dead but he was still jealous of her and what she had done with his brother. Alfred had betrayed him by taking That Woman as some sort of pet and yeah, he would admit it, it had hurt. Apparently America didn't care about his feelings on the matter at all and now all Matthew could do at night was toss and turn and wonder where Alfred was and what he was doing. He was texting him all the time, asking him where he was and when America would ask why he could only come up with some lame answer like 'Dunno, jst brd. Txt me ltr, k?'

If he had supposedly fallen in love with one of his people, then who was to stop it from happening again? The trust in their relationship was totally ruined and it made the young Canadian so angry to know that Alfred would do something so outlandish in the first place that he could barely stand it. Having finished raking the leaves into two tall piles he jogged back a few feet and turned to look at it. It looked fun, so he ran towards it and dove in, scattering leaves every which way and undoing a good hour's worth of work. He lay face down in the fragrant leaves and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. Fall sure smelled good. If only he could tell him how he felt. If only it were that easy, and they could come together and form some kind of pact or something that bonded them for the rest of their lives. "I suppose they call that marriage." He mumbled into the red, yellow, and orange bed of vegetation he lay in. But he didn't want to be married to Alfred, he wanted to be one with him in ways that really didn't even make sense to him. To… merge, so to speak?

Sadly, as far as he knew, something like that was impossible. And so lately he just spent excessive amounts of time dwelling on what Alfred was doing with his time, where he was, and above all who he was spending his time with. What was he doing right now? Who was he with? Matthew wasn't sure if he was sliding around the dating scene again, although it had been about a month since That Woman had gone missing. Was he over it by now? He damn well should be, she wasn't all that special or anything from what he had seen. Just some fleshy woman with a nice figure and a generic life. He rolled over to face the sky, enjoying the sun's warm kiss on his cheeks as he stretched out in the rustling pile. He was a freaking country, gosh darn it, and much more suited to his brother in every way due to that alone.

He pulled himself to a sitting position and began picking the colorful leaves from his hair, frowning in thought. Maybe it was time to man up and just tell him how he felt. Maybe, just maybe, doing something like that wasn't as hard as he had made it out to be in his mind all of these years. He cracked a shy little smile and stood up, patting the dirt from his jeans. He looked back at the ruined pile and sighed. Well, if he was going to do anything like that he would have to fix this mess first.

About an hour later he was looking through a jewelry shop, the hood of his sweater resting over his head and his hands in his pockets. He leaned down to peek into a case and eye the various trinkets there, chewing his lip as he tried to figure out which one Alfred would like the most. They were all cross pendants, beautifully crafted and painfully expensive but Matthew would spare no expense in getting something his brother would truly love. Finally he picked one out, it was medium sized and solid gold, with little diamonds in a swirling shape from the top to the bottom. It was lovely and so he called the shopkeeper over and requested it. She was an old and weathered woman with straight black hair packed up neatly into a tight bun. She told him how much it cost, eyeing his casual attire with poorly concealed distaste. He said he knew, there was a sign beneath it. She asked him if he wanted to set up a payment plan. He pulled the full amount from his wallet and slapped it down onto the display case. She held it up to the light to see if it was real, and let out a little huff when it was. It was packed into a small and square black box that was decorated with the store's symbol. Matthew stuffed it into his pocket and left the store, politely thanking the woman for her business.

As he walked from the shop and back to his car he pulled his phone from his pocket and placed a call to his favorite country. Three rings and it was answered, "What is it this time, Mattie? Wanna know what I'm eating for lunch?" He was clearly irritated by the constant checkups Canada had been placing.

Matthew chuckled as he fished his car keys from his pocket. "Yes."

"A turkey sandwich. What?"

"I don't have much else to do so I wanted to know if you felt like going out today." He pushed the key into the ignition and started the vehicle, immediately flipping the radio off. Like he wanted to mar Alfred's beautiful voice with whatever crap would come snaking from the speakers.

"Well… I suppose I'm not doing anything today. Sure." Matthew smiled broadly as he pulled away from the curb and began the fairly short drive to America's house. Canada said that he would be there in some fifty minutes. Alfred said he was going to get into the shower and he'd be ready by the time Matthew showed up. The Canadian let a little puff of air from his nostrils as he pictured America in the shower, all soapy and glistening. They said their goodbyes and hung up. Well, this was all going better than he had expected. He already knew what he had in mind for their little 'date'. Of course it would start with food since he was very sure that Alfred would be hungry. Then would come entertainment in the form of a movie. He touched the box in his pocket and tried to think up a good way to express his infatuation without alienating Alfred and chuckled at the irony in giving a religious trinket as a gift when he intended on confessing his incestuous, homosexual love.

He switched the radio back on and listened to the relaxed rock that came from the speakers as he tried to put together a good way to go about all of this. He pictured pulling the box out over dinner and sliding it across the table with a confident smile, and out-right telling Alfred how he felt. His brother would be ecstatic, taking the necklace and telling him that he, too, had harbored such feelings for many years. Yeah, right. There was a far higher chance that he would stare at him blankly, then laugh like it was a joke or something. Or worse, he would become angry and remove Matthew from his life all together. That was the absolutely last thing he wanted to happen and he didn't know what he would do if it came down to that. There was no way he would allow Alfred to refuse to see him. A little ways from the house he stopped at a gas station and filled up, leaning on the hood of his car with his arms crossed and brows furrowed in thought. Maybe he would wait until the movie?

After his tank was full and he had retrieved his credit card from the slot, he popped his trunk and pulled out a large white paper bag. He carried it into the bathroom and slipped into a stall to change into the clothes he had bought months ago for a special occasion. Black high-end jeans, white belt, fitted dark red button down shirt with the top button left undone to show the maple leaf amulet that he wore about his neck on a black string. He looked himself over in the mirror, pondering whether he looked over-dressed or not. Ran a comb through his hair a few times, making sure that there were no loose strands sticking up any which way. Swapped his red and white runners for something a little more appropriate. Look in the mirror again, spin in a circle. He decided that he looked fine and made his way back to his car, feeling his stomach roll with apprehension. He was going to do it. He was really going to do it! The car purred to a start and he pulled out onto the road and he swallowed thickly. The ride there was nearly unbearable. He considered just turning around and coming up with some excuse, yanking his car into oncoming traffic, just driving past America's house and as far as the tires would take him. Where would that be? Mexico?

And all too soon he was pulling into America's driveway, ready to start hyperventilating. He tapped the horn twice to let his brother know that he was there, resting his hand over his chest and breathing slowly. His heart was slamming so hard in his chest that it actually kind of hurt. He looked into his rearview mirror and let out a little puff of air from between his lips; his face was bright red. Matthew undid his seatbelt and climbed out into the cool evening air, stretching his arms up over his head as he tried to calm down. "I'm not just going to spring it on him," He muttered to himself, actually wishing for a moment that he smoked since he had heard how it worked to combat stress, "There's no reason to get so worked up right now."

"I shoulda' known you were some kinda crazy person." Alfred's voice shocked him, causing him to jump and let out a high shriek. Canada spun around, hand on his chest and breathing raggedly, demanding to know what Alfred had meant by the remark.

The American shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head to the side with a grin, "I dunno, maybe because you're standin' out here talking to yourself?" He laughed loudly, turning to make his way to the passenger door. "What are you tripping on anyway, bro? Lost all your syrup? Run out of rainbow dyes for your money?"

Relieved to hear that Alfred hadn't overheard his words, Canada climbed back into the car and pulled his seatbelt back on with a chuckle. "K- Kumadaro says he wants to visit Tony and the whale." He lied in an attempt to change the subject, starting the car and pulling it into gear.

"Well he can't for a while. Tony took them both out on vacation, so they'll be gone for a couple of weeks." Alfred pulled the little handle on the side of his seat and leaned back, resting his feet on the dash. He eyed his younger brother and picked at his teeth. "You're dressed up today."

Canada felt his pulse quicken and his face start to burn as a warm happiness flooded out through his body. Alfred had actually noticed! "Not really." He muttered, glad that he was driving so he could keep his eyes on the road and not have to fret about looking into those lovely blue orbs that were aimed at him.

"Now I'm gonna look like a slob next to you." America said with a smile, referring to his baggy blue T-shirt and worn lightly-colored jeans.

"You always look nice." Matthew muttered shyly, squeezing the steering wheel. His palms were beginning to sweat.

Alfred laughed, running his fingers through his shining golden hair. It was so smooth and healthy and beautiful, Canada wanted to bury his face in it and relish the smell. "I guess. You're too polite for your own good, ya know that? Carmelita would have loved you."

"Who?"

"Oh, my skank ex. She always said I was kinda rude, so I was just thinking that she'd-"

"How do you feel about seafood?" Matthew interjected through clenched teeth. Was Alfred an idiot? Why would he bring That Woman up now, of all times? Was he trying to piss Canada off, because it was working. Alfred nodded vigorously, glad at the prospect of a full belly, apparently not having noticed his brother's darkening of mood.

Matthew remained silent until they were in the restaurant and seated, leafing through their menus. "What are you going to get?" He finally asked, after some five minutes of awkward silence.

"Probably the lobster. You?"

"Lime shrimp."

"Cool."

Canada wanted to slam his brother's head into the table for ruining the flow of the 'date' with his idiocy. He sighed quietly to himself and tried to let the earlier comment go so that he could just enjoy his meal without needing to dwell on something as unimportant as… Well, he decided to not even finish that thought and move on. He would tell him after they were done eating. That way, Alfred would be as happy as he was ever going to be and this whole awkwardness would be forgotten. It would go something like this:

Canada would reach his hand out and softly take America's into a gentle but firm hold to get his attention. The older man would look up from his meal, some noodle or whatever side-dish he chose handing out of his oh-so-luscious mouth. Matthew would pull the box out and open it, letting him see the present first.

"Alfred, I need to tell you something."

"What's up?" He would slurp up the food and swallow it, his gaze dancing back and forth from the pendent to his brother's violet eyes (they would be full of sincere emotion at this point).

"Ever since we were kids, I've admired you. No, more than that. I love you, Alfred, as more than a brother and more than a friend. I want to be (with) you." America would be so shocked at first that he would probably sputter out something incoherent and stupid. Then he would blush bright red and nod.

He would say something like, "I've felt that way about you, too, Mattie."

Why did it come out sounding so corny? Canada lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling under his breath. What did he think this was, some kind of a Lifetime special? There was no way in hell it would come out anything like that! The waiter approaching pulled him from his thoughts and back into the world where he realized (to his horror) that he had been zoning out for some five minutes, leaving his brother restless and somewhat bored.

The tall, dark-haired man stood before them with impeccable posture, looking down on them with his arms crossed behind his back. "Are you ready?" He asked, his voice more friendly than his demeanor led one to believe.

America ordered the house lobster special and a bottle of Coors, flashing a stunning smile as he gave his menu to the man. The waiter smiled back, and after writing the order down with a flourish of movement he took the menu and turned to walk away. Alfred called out and brought him back, asking if he intended on taking Matthew's order. The waiter apologized profusely, blaming the fact that he hadn't even noticed the quiet blond on a turbulent night's sleep. Matthew laughed weakly and told him that it was all right with a little dismissive wave of the hand. He ordered the lime-seared shrimp with a side salad. Water to drink, thank you very much.

Why didn't anyone notice him? He looked the same as his brother, he wasn't a small man, and he felt that he was even dressed nicely enough that day to stand out a little. It was always 'Alfred, Alfred, Alfred.' 'What's Alfred doing today?' 'Alfred, why are you invading them?' 'Hey, Alfred, are those new glasses?' No one cared about Canada, and it bothered him to no end. He was smarter, nicer, and just over-all better than his idiot brother and it was really beginning to bother him that no one ever paid him any mind. He wanted to be the one the other countries talked about, he wanted to be the one people invited out for a drink, and gosh darn it all he wanted an opportunity to order his meal when he was the dang one paying for it! He sighed heavily and touched the box in his pocket.

Maybe he should have done the old trick with the ring (or in this case, necklace) in the food. Nothing says "I love you" more than choking that person to death on a foolishly hidden piece of jewelry. Matthew's fingers tapped around the squared edges of the box, trying to think of the opportune moment to do what he had come there to do.

"So what are we gonna do after this?" Alfred asked as he tried to fold his napkin into some low-level origami bird.

"I was thinking of seeing a movie. Anything you're interested in?"

"Well, there's this one out that looks pretty funny. It's about some guys who accidentally go to the moon or something, and they spend a couple days there trying to escape."

"That sounds more like an action/adventure or something."

"Yeah, I know, but it's actually a comedy, I swear. A bromance." Canada nodded. His brother had been very fond of those types of movies lately. Between two and five men having ridiculous adventures over the span of a day or two. Nothing is learned, there is no message, and any romance subplots are glossed over in about five minutes. Canada was alright with seeing something like that, it could help him relax and unwind a bit.

"I wonder when it's playing next." He said, cracking an amused smile at the crooked little napkin-bird Alfred had created. "That looks awful."

"I'd like to see you do better, broski." America huffed, flicking the bird across the table. Their meals arrived and Alfred dug in like a starving person, chatting away through mouthfuls of food. Matthew smiled and laughed and replied quietly, being sure to properly swallow his food before he tried to speak. They talked of what they thought Tony and the whale were doing on their vacation, ideas for new movies, cool games that they were waiting for. Whilst trying to talk through a rather large bite of biscuit, Alfred choked a little and coughed, sending a clump of half-chewed food rolling out onto the table.

"That's why everyone tells to finish chewing before you talk." Matthew sighed, shaking his head and reaching out to pluck up the wet hunk of half-eaten food and pop it into his mouth.

"Well I'm not just gonna be silent while I eat!" America stated flatly, grimacing a little as Canada chewed. "You always do that, isn't it gross?"

"Do what?"

"Eat the food people drop."

"…What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? You just did it, you ate the food that fell out of my mouth. Isn't that gross to do that to everyone all the time?" America swallowed what he was chewing and took a long swig from his beer.

"I don't do it with everyone. Just you." Matthew replied, picking up a piece of his shrimp with his fork and dipping it into the lemon sauce before taking a bite and chewing slowly. America opened his mouth as if he had something to say, then just went back to eating before he spoke again, having changed the subject. Matthew continued to nod and agree, or interject something when he felt it necessary as Alfred continued to speak. The American's rapid-fire manner of speaking was making it hard for him to come up with some way to get his feelings across. Even if Canada knew what to say or how to say it, there was just no break in the conversation for him to politely request to be heard. At the same time, he was beginning to doubt that telling him like this would be a very good idea. What if he were to become upset and cause some embarrassing scene? It would be humiliating, and he really didn't want to be in a situation like that in a public place like the one he was in.

And so they just talked and ate, Matthew paid the bill ($87.98), and they headed to the theater. After having bought the tickets ($17.50) and a massive popcorn and soda for America($8.98), Matthew headed into the theater alone. Alfred had gone to use the toilet. As the previews rolled on before him, he tried to think of a good way to 'pop the question', so to speak, in the middle of a movie where one was supposed to be quiet. Maybe he could just lean over and whisper it into his ear. It would probably play out something like:

Canada would wrap his arm around America's shoulders about half-way through the flick, pulling him close. Alfred would look at him with a confused expression, slowly chewing a kernel of popcorn.

"…What are you doing?"

"Alfred," Matthew would whisper into his ear, "I need to tell you something important, but I'm afraid you'll hate me."

"I couldn't hate you, little bro. What's up?"

Matthew would push the box into America's hands, that would have been sitting in his lap. He would let his fingers brush lightly over those soft hands, and then let them rest on a warm thigh. "I love you, Alfred. I want to be (with) you."

The older man would blush and advert his gaze, unsure of what to say. A few moments would pass before he would slowly turn and capture Matthew's lips in a kiss.

What the heck was this, some kind of romance novel? Matthew clapped his hands over his eyes and shook his head back and forth, his cheeks turning red. There was no way in hell it would work out that way! Maybe seeing a movie wasn't the best plan after all. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to tell him at all, and maybe, just maybe, it really was as hard as he had been making it out to be for all of these years. When Alfred finally arrived the previews were over and opening credits rolling. Matthew couldn't help but chuckle at the way he pushed his way down the aisles, loudly excusing himself when he would step on someone's foot or trip over them. Why couldn't he be that brash? Why was it so hard for him to just make himself known? Well, standing next to his brother there was no contest. Even if Matthew tried to be louder and more interesting, he was quickly forgotten the moment America showed up.

When Alfred plopped down into his seat next to him, Matthew gave him a little nudge with his elbow and smiled, pointing at the long line of disgruntled-looking people who were glaring their way. Alfred just rolled his eyes and dismissed them with a little wave of the hand, nestling into his seat and leaning back while balancing the popcorn bucket on his upper thighs. Canada kept looking at him although the movie was starting, studying the way the shadows played with the features on his face. He just stared and stared, trying his hardest to work up the courage to put his arm around Alfred's shoulders, or hold his hand, or rest his hand on his knee. Something, anything would work, just some touch that would be difficult to be construed as platonic to help ease their way into a conversation.

Matthew felt like he was sweating bullets when he lifted a trembling hand and extended it towards Alfred's, which was sitting on the armrest. Closer, closer, almost there Canada dang it just touch it come on come on come on… He squeaked and snatched his hand back to his lap when Alfred burst out laughing from some hilarious situation on the screen, that elusive hand slapping the armrest twice as if to say 'by golly this movie is so fucking funny it makes me want to just hit stuff!' The Canadian turned his attention to the film and watched a good fifteen minutes before he decided to give that cliché move, the old 'Yawn and Stretch', a try. Pulling his arms up into the air, he made a show of yawning, bending first to the left then the right, before slowly lowering his hands. The left fell back to it's place on his lap while the right slowly sunk down to rest on the back of America's seat.

Matthew was glad that he was in the middle of a dark theater, because from the feel of things his face was bright red. Alfred didn't seem to have noticed as he just sat there chuckling away at the screen and stuffing handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. America turned to him, offering the tub of popcorn and noticed the arm, lifting a quizzical eyebrow with his smile fading. Matthew just laughed lamely and pulled his hand back into his lap, "I wondered how long it was gonna take for you to notice."

"Don't be such a weirdo, Mattie." Alfred said, his smile returning as he set the snack into his brother's lap. "Eat some of this before I finish it all and make myself sick."

Canada chuckled weakly, taking a kernel and popping it into his mouth. What the heck was that expression? Was his arm so horrible that Alfred had to get all serious for a moment? Was he mad? Maybe he was just imagining it, but it had looked like quite a disapproving stare. Maybe this whole thing was a horrible mistake. On the screen the 'nerdy friend' character was saying something the didn't make much sense and the 'voice of reason' was face-palming, which elected a round of laughter from the audience. What was going on, anyway? They were on the moon at this point, but Canada wasn't really paying it any mind. He leaned back, resting his head on the back of his seat and looked up at the ceiling, feeling tears sting at his eyes. This was a horrible mistake. There was no way that Alfred felt the same way that he did, no way at all. It wasn't fair.

After the flick had ended, they walked out through the crisp night air to Canada's car, Alfred recapping his favorite parts of the movie with excited gusto. Matthew walked slowly with his hands in his pockets, considering just cutting the night short and taking his brother home. Things would stay the way they always were, and that would be the end of it. But he didn't want things to stay the way they were, and he damn sure didn't want it to be over and done with. If he were to just drop America off he would always be the ever-forgotten Canada, he would never be noticed by anyone, and the gnawing emotions he held for his older brother would fester even deeper than they already had until they consumed him. There was no way that he would let that happen! Either his brother would accept him and they would run off into the sunset and live happily ever after (what an embarrassing thought) or he would be denied and forced to resort to drastic methods to get what he wanted. No, not wanted. Needed.

"You wanna go to the bar?" He asked, climbing into the driver's seat and pulling on his seatbelt.

"The night is young, so why the hell not?"

The best way to lubricate a confession of that caliber had to be booze, and so they drove to a comfortable bar downtown. They sat at a table got started. Let's play I Never, Alfred had said. Canada agreed and they began.

"I never threw up on anyone." Canada had to drink.

"I never fought with Arthur." America took a long swig.

"I never had a one-night stand."

"I never tried to commit genocide."

"That's a low blow. At least I apologized and gave them a few rooms in my house. I never get mistaken for anyone."

"I've never been in a car accident."

On and on it went, until they were both quite thoroughly sloshed. They attempted a game of darts that ended up being discontinued when Alfred threw one horribly aimed projectile and broke a hole in the jukebox. They played ping-pong, Matthew won by quite a few points. The Canadian had to pull Alfred away from a small group of women he was putting the moves on, and then they played beer pong. Finally, while Alfred was sitting slouched at the table and nursing a beer, Matthew steeled his resolve and pulled the box from his pocket.

"Alfred."

America looked up from his glass bottle and smiled, "Yeah?"

"There's something I need to tell you." He set the box onto the table and inhaled a shaky breath. Here goes nothing.

"What, you gonna ask me to marry you?" Alfred joked, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his pack of cigarettes. He motioned for Canada to follow him outside.

Matthew trailed behind, gripping the box in shaking hands, his heart beating wildly. He forced a laugh, "Maybe?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Alfred said, letting a little disapproving puff of air from his nostrils as he put a cigarette to his lips and flicked his lighter one, two, three, four times before it flared. He lit the thin white tube and pushed the lighter back into his pocket, taking a long drag. "That kind of thing may be cool at your house, but I'm a little confused about it so it's gonna stay a huge 'no'." He chuckled, blowing the smoke out through his nose.

"But seriously, what did you need?"

Canada stood there, fishing for words. Rejected before he even had a chance to say anything, isn't that hilarious? Hardy fucking har, so funny it hurt. He felt all of his hopes and dreams crash down around him and yeah, it did hurt. Not in a funny way, no, it hurt in one of those soul-crushing ways. His entire body was suddenly washed in sorrow, like the world had ended, like when you're driving and run over a puppy you just didn't see was there. His eyes stung and he brought his hand to his mouth, afraid that he would cry out. Something was building in his throat, building, building, struggling to get out. And then it did; He began to laugh. It was a frantic and crooked sound, bubbling out of him uncontrollably as he pressed his palm over his lips and tried to suppress it.

Alfred would never accept him. He would be disgusted by him, deny him, and remove him from his life forever. All of the love and energy Canada had put into him was for not, all of that time just wasted! He could declare his love to some bitch human, but not to his own brother? He laughed and laughed until tears began streaking his cheeks, a deep and dark feeling spreading over his body like wildfire. This was a mistake, this was a mistake, this was a horrible freaking mistake and how could he be so stupid? There was no way that the world's greatest country could even think to waste it's time on the oh so uninteresting Canada! After everything he had done for him, after being there for him when he was down, removing that little bitch whore mistake from his life, loving him unconditionally!

Alfred stepped back a little, shocked at his brother's outburst. "Are… Are you alright?" He asked, a cloud of grey smoke accentuating his words.

Canada took a deep breath, replying between errant giggles, "I'm fine. Would you really think I would want to be with you like that?"

"No, I suppose not."

"I got this for you earlier, it was pretty cheap." What a lie. He handed the little box to Alfred. Matthew loved the way his eyes lit up when he saw the trinket and pulled it from the case, holding it out to admire the detail.

"This is really nice, man. There's no way it could have been cheap."

"I got it on sale." Another lie.

"Well thanks, dude." Alfred took it from the box and affixed it around his neck. "What do you think?"

Beautiful, amazing, perfect. "It looks pretty good, for you anyway."

America decided that he needed to go home, he had work the next day and going home at one in the morning was a mistake already. Matthew dropped him off and drove home in silent thought, milling over his premature rejection without the sounds of the radio to distract him. So apparently Alfred was one-hundred percent straight, from what he had said there were no two ways about it. There was absolutely no way that America would ever love him and… And, well, that just didn't really matter, now did it? Matthew's hands tightened on the wheel as a smile slowly crept over his lips. It really didn't matter, by maple there was no way that mattered at all. He really didn't want to be with America anyway. He knew now, he knew deep inside of himself what that clawing, gnawing thought had been lurching about in his mind all of these years.

He wanted to BE America. He wanted to be seen, to be recognized, and most of all to be able to brush off someone's feelings like they were just any old garbage. What had Alfred done to deserve his life, anyway? What had HE done that Canada HADN'T done? Nothing, absolutely freaking nothing. And maybe, just maybe, that was the point after all.

This was going to take some effort. The first stop was the barber; Matthew held up a picture to let them know exactly what he wanted. He was sad to see his hair go, but it was for a good cause, right? Snip snip, gradient blonde to some shade of orange fell to the floor around the chair as he watched in the mirror. When it was done he turned his head left and right, tilted it up and down, ran his fingers through it. It was… perfect. His cheeks turned a dark shade of pink at the resemblance and he thanked the old man who had done the job, tipping him five dollars. It had been an entire week since the botched 'date', which had given him a good amount of time to practice his Alfred constantly. Mannerisms, tone of voice, writing, everything. He had even called England to see if he could tell the difference. If he did he hadn't mentioned anything.

Having left the pantry unlocked and a pile of money on the kitchen table for Kumajirou to buy food with, he bid his old home goodbye and left with no intention of returning. When he got to his new home he pulled the duplicate key he had made a few years ago (who needed consent, anyway?) from his pocket and let himself in. Well, this was home now, apparently. He felt a little weird but would sure that the sensation would pass with time. His first stop was the fridge; made a ham sandwich with cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes. Plopped down on the couch and ate it, watching some TV movie that was already halfway through. He had been too busy lately to monitor his brother's movements so he wasn't sure where he was. Out doing something stupid, no doubt. Regardless of what he was doing, he would be taken care of in time. Matthew burped quietly into his hand, whispering a little "excuse me" after having finished his sandwich. Well, what to do? He flipped the TV off and hopped up to standing, looking about the room. Well, apparently Alfred had gone somewhere important, as his iPod was still resting in it's dock. May as well listen to some music.

He poked it on and saw that it was in the middle of a song by the late 'King of Pop'. He tilted his head in thought. That was something he had never considered attempting to copy; His brother was world-renowned for his dancing, and Canada may as well have two left feet. What a horrible thing to overlook.

"Huh, I may as well try." He said to himself, nibbling the tip of his index finger as he bent at the waist to get a better look at the MP3 player's screen. He pushed his ahego out of the way as he cycled through his brother's play list. There was no way he would even consider taking a scissor near the long curl, the very notion terrified him. He had a mock Nantucket styled in so he had decided that as long as he clipped his curl down no one would be the wiser. He chose a song and hit play.

Some ten minutes later, he gave up and poked the 'stop' button. Three spins landed him squarely on his ass, his lack of coordination turned a slide into a one-way ticket straight into a wall, and an attempted moonwalk had come dangerously close to sending him plummeting to his death down the basement stairs. Who needed to know how to dance, anyhow? Grumbling about his rather pathetic attempts, he wandered aimlessly down a hallway until he found himself standing in Alfred's armory.

Guns of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, while others sat in glass cases and weapons closets. Matthew hefted a rather heavy flame thrower into his arms and pointed it out, then did a quiet laugh (meant to sound like America's. He would have to work on that.) before pressing the fire button. He squeaked in shock when a massive tongue of flames shot out from the weapon, blinding him with it's light and instantly heating the room to unbearable temperatures. He pulled his finger from the button and dropped the heavy weapon, panting in fear and surprise. Why was it loaded? After he set the M2A1-7 back where it belonged he went about inspecting the rest of the guns to find that they were all loaded and in pristine condition. Matthew thought the notion of having a room full of live firearms was foolish (especially the bazooka in the corner), but he just shrugged and picked up a black SIG P250 and inspected it. After having decided that he liked it, he turned the safety on and pushed it into the waist of his pants before leaving the room, closing the door behind himself.

Jogging up the stairs to Alfred's room, he wondered off-handedly when his brother would be home, then quickly dismissed the thought. He would be home when he was home, there was no sense in stressing himself out about it. He let himself into America's room and dove face-first into his bed, wrapping one of his pillows in a hug and rolling about. He inhaled deeply, relishing in Alfred's scent. How could one person possibly smell so phenomenal? He cracked a crooked smile as he stopped rolling to just lay there for a moment, his eyes closed and pillow laying over his face. "This is nice." He mumbled through the fabric, laying on his back and letting his legs hang over the edge of the bed lazily.

With some effort he forced himself to remove the pillow and sit up with a sigh. He would have loved to just lay there forever, but he still had things to do. He hopped up and went over to the closet and leafed through the outfits in there, before he pulled out a plain red T-shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and (of course) the aviator jacket his brother apparently wasn't wearing that day. He stripped out of his own clothes and set them neatly folded on the top of the dresser before he slipped into Alfred's clothes. He shirt and jeans smelled like dryer sheets, and the jacket… Oh god yes, it smelled just like him. Canada walked to the full length mirror that hung next to the bed and grinned. He looked Just. Like. Him. The similarity was so drastic that he was absolutely sure that if he didn't know better even he would be fooled, and it made him glow with pride. So this was what it felt like to be Alfred. The feel of his hair as it tickled across his face when he moved, the warmth of the jacket.

He put his hands on his hips and struck a 'heroic' pose, then flexed at himself. A little giggle bubbled unexpectedly from his lips as he slowly turned in a circle, approving of the way he looked. He sat back on the bed and winked at his reflection, running his fingers through his hair. Matthew's cheeks started to burn pink when he felt blood rush to his groin. "It's a natural reaction." He muttered to himself, letting his hand slowly lift his shirt enough to see his flat stomach. He would need to eat more. He leaned back a little and lifted the shirt higher, eyeing the black handle of the gun with interest. It had been a while since he had used one. He ran one hand down from his stomach over his clothed erection, shuddering a little at the feel, then let it travel down his thigh. A click from behind him made him turn his head and smile.

"Welcome home." He said, laying back on the bed and pulling the gun from his pants to point it upside-down at his brother.

Alfred just blinked, trying to process what he had walked in on. "Mattie, what the fuck are you doing?" His voice was flat and calm.

Matthew rolled over onto his stomach and smiled wider, resting his chin on one hand while keeping the gun pointed with the other. "You're home."

"Uh, yeah. You got a hair cut."

"You like it?"

"I can't really say I don't, considering the style. You're wearing my clothes."

"They're really nice." He clicked the safety off.

"Is that my gun?"

"Mine, now."

"I see."

"Come in, and shut the door behind you." Canada pulled back the gun's hammer to accentuate his point.

Swallowing thickly, Alfred did as he was told, the severity of the situation finally sinking in past the initial shock. Matthew stood and went to him to wrap him in a firm and needy hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of his brother's neck as he let the gun hang limply from his hand. "I love you."

"W-wait, what?" America asked, pulling away until he felt the barrel of the gun push against his temple.

"I've always loved you so much." Canada said as he quickly closed the space between them to press his lips against Alfred's soft mouth for the second time in his life. It was so soft and warm and a little bit shaky but that didn't really matter. He pushed his tongue past those quivering lips and dipped it into Alfred's delicious mouth, moaning in pleasure at the taste. Chocolate milkshake, mint chewing gum, and tobacco. What a delicious mixture. They were so close that he could feel America's erratic heartbeat against his chest and it made him so happy that his brother could be so excited by him. Matthew found it odd but his own heart was working calmly, as if he were taking a relaxing walk through the park or something, rather than actually kissing the object of his affection. Well, isn't life just full of surprises?

Alfred wasn't kissing him back, but that was alright. He wasn't holding him either, but that didn't matter. He was playing hard-to-get, and Matthew found it cute. Finally he broke the kiss and took a couple steps back, never taking the gun from his brother. He reached back and grabbed the shirt from the stack of clothes on top of the dresser and threw it at the older sibling. "Get changed."

America unfolded the top with shaking hands and recognized it immediately. "Mattie, what the hell are you-"

"No!" Canada snapped, swinging the gun down to aim at Alfred's knee. "You're Matthew now, and I'm Alfred! Now put it on or I'll shoot you in the kneecap."

"Alright, alright!" Alfred yelped, pulling his white shirt up and over his head before tossing it to the floor. He pulled the T-shirt on and spread his hands in a show of good will. "There, happy now?"

Canada's face blushed red and he dropped his head to stare down at the floor for a moment, "Take off your pants."

"You can't be-"

He looked back up again and let the gun fall to his side. "Please?"

Alfred sighed heavily and adverted his eyes as he slowly undid his belt and button, then unzipped the jeans and pulled them down before kicking them off to the side. He started to blush and fidget awkwardly. "This is weird."

"Boxers, too, then go lay down." Matthew motioned towards the bed with his gun. After Alfred had removed his underwear and shuffled over to the bed (pulling the bottom of the shirt down to try and hide his lower regions) he sat up against the headboard, looking everywhere but Matthew.

The Canadian moved to the foot of the bed and let out a little puff of air. "You're so cute." He climbed onto the bed and crawled on all fours toward his older brother, enjoying the sight. By the time he had situated himself between America's legs, he was starting to feel like he would need to at least unbutton his pants, because it was starting to hurt his crotch.

"Why are you doing this, man?" Alfred muttered, turning his eyes to look at the far wall when he noticed Matthew undoing his jeans.

The younger man looked up from his fly to glare at his brother. "Why? Are you seriously an idiot? I would be a thousand times better at being 'America' than you! You're loud, annoying, you talk too much, you're rude, and all you do is eat and eat and eat!"

Alfred jumped a little at the outburst, and let out a strained sounding little chuckle of stressed fear.

Rage flashing in his eyes, Canada jammed the barrel of the gun just beneath America's Adam's apple. "You're just going to laugh at me?" He demanded, pushing down as hard as he could until Alfred's breathes came out in little wheezing gasps.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm just… Just nervous!" Alfred managed to choke out, tears spilling from his eyes that were wide with terror as he struggled to breath.

Canada stared at him for a moment before pulling the gun away and sighing. "I'm really sorry, I over reacted." He said with a small smile, lowering his head to kiss the already bruised flesh softly. He let soft kisses trail up the smooth flesh before his slid his tongue from his mouth to slowly lap up the salty tears. Everything about Alfred was just so delicious, Matthew would have been content just eating him. Leaving his right hand on the bed, still holding the gun, he lifted his left to run his fingers through that smooth, beautiful hair. He pressed a soft kiss against Alfred's lips, then moved down, kissing and licking across his neck then pushed the shirt up a ways to trail wet kisses down the shivering chest.

"Hold it in your mouth." He instructed, pushing the bottom of the shirt against America's lips.

"What for?" He mumbled past the fabric, his voice still a little shaky from the earlier outburst.

"I think it would look good."

"I guess." Alfred opened his mouth and bit down softly on the fabric, his blush growing as Matthew looked him over with a satisfied smile before taking one of the uncovered nipples into his mouth and sucking it lightly. America jumped a little at the feeling, suppressing a soft moan.

Matthew gave the little bud another lick before continuing past Alfred's soft stomach to his penis. Well, apparently they looked the same there, too. He ran his tongue over it before pulling the length into his mouth, swirling his tongue in slow circles as he enjoyed the musky scent and distinct flavor. As he bobbed his head up and down, he became more and more irritated at it's unwillingness to become erect. Finally, he let it go and looked up at America with a scowl, "What, I'm no good at it? You don't like me?" He growled, poking the tip with the gun.

"I-I'm sorry, dude! It's just a little hard to get it up when my own brother's sucking my dick and threatening to shoot me!" Alfred yelped, dropping the shirt from his lips as he spoke. His eyes stayed trained on the loaded weapon aiming directly at his manhood in fear, trying to close his legs.

"I guess you have a point." Matthew muttered, tapping the gun against his jaw as he thought for a moment. "You never did it with a guy?"

"Oh course not!"

"Lay all the way back, and by maple relax a little."

"That's easy for you to say." America muttered as he scooted himself down onto his back.

Matthew pushed his brother's legs apart further and nibbled lightly on one of the pale thighs, cupping his balls in one hand and massaging. He nipped and licked his way down to the little crook between the leg and pubic region, sucking it softly. America bucked his hips with a gasp of air, wriggling about. Canada's middle and ring finger moved down slightly enough to stroke the smooth skin of his perineum, alternating between firm and light touches as he moved him mouth further down. Alfred yelped loudly when Matthew's wet tongue flicked over his hole, "Don't, that's gross!"

"I wouldn't be doing this if it was." Matthew murmured between licks, "Nothing about you is gross, anyway." He smiled a little to himself when he noticed America's cock twitch a slightly, slowly growing hard. Apparently he liked the sensation more than he cared to admit. He ran the tip of his tongue around the circumference twice before licking up over the perineum, across his balls, and up to the head before swallowing the now-erect member into his mouth. That was better. He stopped sucking for a moment to moisten his middle finger so that he could continue to tease Alfred's hole while his mouth was otherwise occupied.

America moaned quietly as his hips pushed him up into Matthew's hot mouth, momentarily forgetting any sense of danger or moral qualms as his body was teased and caressed. He let out a little whine of protest when the ministrations abruptly stopped and Matthew stood. "What are you doing?" He asked between little panting breathes.

Canada dug in the second to top drawer for a moment before he found the little bottle of lube he knew Alfred kept there, and took a moment to pull his pants down before climbing back onto the bed and straddling his brother's lap. "How'd you know that was there?" America asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I know a lot of things." Matthew replied as he opened the bottle and poured a good amount over his fingers. He leaned forward and kissed Alfred, dipping his tongue into that mouth that he just loved oh so much as his hand reached around behind him and he pushed his index finger inside of himself, shuddering a little at the cold sensation. A wave of happiness flowed through him as Alfred actually kissed him back while he continued to finger himself, eventually adding another. All he wanted to do was just get to it already, but it would be better for both of them if he remained calm, composed, and didn't try to rush himself. He moaned into Alfred's mouth as he slipped a third finger inside, keeping his eyes slightly open to watch and be sure that his big brother wouldn't try to make a grab for the gun he was still holding.

Impatiently deciding that he had prepped enough, he removed his fingers from himself and poured a little puddle of lube into his palm to slick America's member, before he took a moment to aim and lowered himself down onto the hot length. Oh god he was doing it he was doing it he was finally freaking doing it! After so many years of wishing, and wanting, and pretending, here he was! A strong tremble ran up his spine at the knowledge as he sat down completely, giving himself a moment to relish in the feeling. They were finally going to be one and by everything IT WOULD BE GLORIOUS! With a little sigh he lifted himself almost entirely off before dropping back down, his eyes glazing over in pleasure at the flushed and conflicted expression his brother wore. He lifted himself again and slid back down, quickly finding a rhythm, breathy moans escaping his lips as America's hands slid up to hold him as he rocked his hips, thrusting into him at an increasingly faster rate.

"This is weird." Alfred gasped, thrusting harder up into the body atop him. Matthew leaned back to allow his brother's dick easier access to his prostate, sucking in a hissing breath and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment when it slid against it for the first time, making his arms want to go out from the pleasure. The thick coat was making him hot but he didn't want to take it off, so he pulled it off for a moment to remove the shirt, then pulled it on and let it rest around his shoulders. Not perfect, but much better. One hand holding him up as well as keeping tabs on the gun, he brought the other around to stroke himself as he bounced up and down on Alfred's cock. He moaned loudly when the older man's grip tightened on his hips and he trust up into him as hard as he could a few times, before switching to a faster tempo. And then his eyes flew open when America spoke.

"Mattie, I… I'm gonna cum." Alfred moaned, pushing as deeply into the tight hole as he could.

"Wait, what? No! No, not yet, damn it!" He yelped just as he felt the hot release flow into his body. He sat there for a moment, breathing hard, staring at his brother in disbelief. What the hell was that? His first time with the brother he loved so much and didn't even get a chance to cum?

"I'm sorry." Alfred panted lamely, "I tried to hold it."

Groaning loudly, Matthew ran his hand over his face and grumbled to himself before sitting up straight. "Well, I guess you always did cum kind of quickly."

"Hey, fuck you! How would you kn-" The words died in his throat when the barrel of the gun was pushed against his left eyelid, Canada smiling down at him. Silence stretched on for what seemed like forever as they stared at each other, Canada ever-grinning and Alfred's eyes wide in fear and disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak just as Matthew squeezed the trigger, and the gun went of with a resounding explosion of sound. Blood and brains and shattered bone burst out over the sheets and Matthew jumped a little at the noise. He wasn't very fond of loud things, so it had startled him.

After tossing the gun aside, he placed his hands on Alfred's unmoving chest and bounced up and down a few more times, enjoying the feel of his brother's dick before he lost too much blood and it went soft. Finally he lifted himself up, looking down to watch it slide out. Some semen dripped out after it, trickling down his thighs. Turning back to Alfred, he leaned in to run his tongue in a circle around the scorched eye socket. It tasted like a burnt roast mixed with gun powder. Not terrible, but not really good, either. He sat up again, resting his bum on Alfred's stomach as he swiveled his finger around the broken hole before pushing the index and middle inside, feeling the still warm ruins of the brain. It kind of felt like jell-o. After pushing them around a bit he pulled them out and brought them close to his face, eyeing the sticky red blood and little chinks of grey matter. He put them into his mouth and sucked them clean. Maybe he would become more 'America-like' from ingesting some of his mind. Unlikely, but worth a shot.

He tweaked Alfred's ahego and sighed heavily. "How could I have forgotten about that?" He grumbled to himself. Now he would never know if it was an erogenous zone. He just shrugged and moved off of the body, spreading the legs and taking some of the lube onto his fingers before pushing two inside the still-warm hole. He worked slowly and diligently in stretching America properly, determined to make his first time have as little pain as possible. Once he was confident that he had done a thorough job he slicked himself with the fluid and slowly slipped inside. Even in death Alfred was just so tight, it felt amazing. He lay over him, his face pressed against where shoulder met neck, his left hand holding Alfred's with their fingers laced together as he thrust slowly into the unresponsive body, in no hurry to reach completion but still dangerously close from before.

"I love you so much, Alfred." He moaned, kissing the cooling lips as he came with a shudder, spilling his seed into the lukewarm hole. He pulled out and stood to make his way to another dresser on the other end of the room to fish out a pack of his brother's cigarettes before returning to cuddle up next to the American. He lit one of the little white tubes and inhaled, coughing violently at the burn of the smoke in his lungs. Well, this was going to take some getting used to. As he struggled to smoke through fits of coughing, he wondered if anyone would notice the difference at the upcoming World Meeting. Would anyone tell the difference? Would anyone notice that 'Canada' had gone missing? On that note, would Tony and the whale think anything was strange when they came back from vacation? Oh well, no use in dwelling on things that you can't do anything about.

He put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the end table and flicked the lamp off before cuddling up next to Alfred and pulling the covers over them both. He wondered how one goes about preserving bodies, since it would be a shame to only have his brother around for a couple of days before he started going south. As he felt sleep begin to overtake him, the thought 'I'm going to regret this in the morning' slid through his mind. Tightening his grip around Alfred's body, he chucked.

Fat chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this is an old one! This is my long-standing favorite fic to have written actually. Why I didn't post it here before I'll never know. I kind of assumed I already had. The technical quality here isn't great but not only is it leaps and bounds above the couple of horrible fic attempts proceeding it, but it was just plain fun to write and in the end that's what really matters, right? I had a quick idea that adhered to a prominent kink/overall interest of mine (stalking) and somehow ended up with a five chapter romp that still makes me laugh to this day. This was around the time when I was starting to form some long-standing headcanons about the characters as well.
> 
> This fic is really nostalgic to me but I'll stop rambling! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I do not own Hetalia: Axis powers or any of the characters depicted herein. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to the events of any person's life, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


End file.
